


Love Always

by Fadesintothewest



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, Gender or Sex Swap, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-05
Updated: 2015-11-11
Packaged: 2017-12-31 13:23:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 51,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1032185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fadesintothewest/pseuds/Fadesintothewest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Story Summary: Written in honor of Halloween/ Day of the Dead/ Samhain and other such practices that grew out of the Harvest feasts, and/or marked the beginning of winter, the earth’s slumber. Some say it is a time when the veil between worlds is thinned, and so it is in Aman. But our favorite elf finds himself put out by his growing responsibilities as a Noldorin Prince, so much so he wishes himself a lady. Ask and ye shall receive it is said, but be wary for wishes that come to pass may not be all that is desired.</p><p>The origins of this story was from a blog that requested either Maedhros or Fingon as females. This is my attempt. I hope it is entertaining.</p><p>*Chapter 7 fixed*</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Be careful what you wish for

**Author's Note:**

> Findekáno - Findírë  
> Nelyafinwë /Maitimo -Maedhros

He was over it, over the responsibility that came with being a first-born son: a Prince of the Noldor. Findekáno could not help but pout. He’d yet to loose this childish trait or so his father always reminded him when he pursed his lips to pout. He wished it all away, all the responsibilities, his ever-growing duties, and the whole lot of them, those insufferable elves!

 

Findekáno was not yet of age, but the demands on his time were increasing and his churlishness was growing in equal measure. He did not desire to be so contrarian, but some of the Noble men of Finwë’s court were entirely detestable. As a prince not come of age it was common for young elf of his station to apprentice with Noble men and women. If one were lucky one could apprentice for those Lords and Ladies that gave their service to Oromë. But no! Findekáno was apprenticed to one dreadful Atanalacar, a follower of Manwë, a so-called Valadur.

 

Findekáno grumbled as he walked to Atanalacar’s home. The thought of it made his insides churn, knowing he would have to prostrate himself in prayer upon entering the Noble man’s home, so he turned his thoughts to his usual subject matter as he made his way to fulfill his duties, considering the intricacies of elven politics, the divide that grew between them, and what that meant for him. Of all the types Findekáno least liked the Valadurs, those that devoted themselves to the Valar and held their value system as Law. Findekáno knew his _atto_ , his uncles and the King himself had no love for such types, but they were put up with as their numbers amongst the Noldor increased as their time in Aman stretched on. The Vanya were, for the most part, Valadurs. It was why they up and left Tirion to be closer to the Valar in Taniquetil. This Findekáno could never understand. Certainly he’d spent time in the Vanyarin lands, accompanying his grandmother to visit family and serving on short apprenticeships in the High King’s court. The High King was his uncle after all, but all that was for not. Findekáno had to put up with a Noldo Valadur. In his mind these were the worst, simply because, Findekáno believed, they were seeking favor for power.

 

Fewer were those devoted to the ways of Awakening, the community of knowledge that the Unbegotten elves and their kin shaped and cultivated before crossing the borders to Aman.  Those that maintained these beliefs in the Blessed Lands did so in increased secrecy as greater distrust was thrown their way, so much so that they took the name Halda to describe their beliefs--that which was veiled, hidden, existing in shadow. Nolofinwë and Anairë were of the Halda, though Nolofinwë also studied Nolmë, as did many of the Noldor. Thus, in greater number amongst the Noldor were those committed to Nolmë, the endeavors of science and observation.* Uncle Arafinwë was considered one the finest of those committed to pursuing Nolmë. But Arafinwë’s rationalism was tempered by Eärwen of the Falmari, daughter of Olwë, the Falmari King on this side of the divide. The Falmari were not lovers of Nolmë, at least not Nolmë as a philosophy. They were of Halda, but for them, being kin of the sea, the veil was less onerous, less of a weight. The Falmari threw out their thoughts and beliefs like a net into the sea gathering tidings from afar, from Endórë, bathing in the light of the distant stars they refused to be sundered from.

 

Uncle Fëanáro on the other hand, he was a swirling whirlwind of Halda and Nolmë. Nolofinwë liked to remind Findekáno that this was why Fëanáro’s creations were unmatched. Findekáno’s _nana_ would quietly whisper to him that this also came at great  cost to Fëanáro, having to break through the veil, the sundering cast by the Valar between Aman and Endórë. Findekáno remembered the times he would spend in the company of his cousins and witness Fëanáro emerging from his forge, his eyes paling, if such could be said of eyes, but that is what would happen: the grey would fade from Fëanáro’s eyes until it seemed all that was left was a pale green light.  Nerdanel would rush Fëanáro to the creek that ran through their property, immerse his Uncle in the cold waters, singing old melodies. They were songs sung at the beginnings, at Awakening. She was strengthening his ties, the waters a direct source to Endórë. Though the Valar built borders between here and there, they could not hold back the mingling of waters. In this way she would soothe him, make him whole. Fëanáro without Nerdanel, Nolofinwë liked to say, would simply be an elf. But then Findekáno reasoned so too his father was simply an elf, without his mother. It seemed that was the way of things: one elf alone was not enough to build and create.

 

It was what set the Haldanur apart the most: their stubborn clannishness.  And this, this was his father’s and Lalwen’s gift. Findekáno was proud of the way men and women loved his _atto_ and aunt, came to them for the most troubling of circumstances. Nolofinwë and Lalwen were trusted. Their keen blue-grey eyes, a mix of Finwë’s Noldorin grey and Indis’ Vanyarin blue, shining as they laughed and made merry with the folks of Tirion. It was true camaraderie, not solely a show of politics. Certainly, Findekáno noted, Fëanáro was loved, but he needed his words--and strong and magnetic they were--to soothe people. Indeed Findekáno had deep love and respect for his uncles and aunts. And this is why he was so doggedly angry!

 

Knowing all this, all the intricacies that existed between the peoples, Findekáno was apprenticed to Atanalacar, the most vile, self-serving elf Findekáno had ever met! And apprenticeship? Ha, Findekáno scoffed, Atanalacar used Findekáno as an errand boy, having him do menial tasks.  But Findekáno would at least get something out of it, for Atanalacar was certainly not careful with his words. He scarcely acknowledged Findekáno’s presence, so much so that he spoke openly in front of the young elf, often disparaging Findekáno’s family and others he greatly respected. Findekáno committed every word to memory.  Findekáno suspected this was what his father intended, but he did not expect to be kept in Atanalcar’s apprenticeship for so long. The elf had become entirely insufferable, verbally abusing Findekáno, knowing Nolofinwë’s eldest could not reproach him.

 

And there it was, Atanalcar’s home. Findekáno often wished his thoughts could steal him away on a breeze, where he could fly to the shores of Alqualondë, and there play in the waves, swim and be content. So caught up in his thoughts was Findekáno, he took little notice of the homes and shops he passed making ready for _Nuruhuinë_ [death-shadow], the time when the wall between the living and the dead was made thin, like a sheer veil where one could glimpse those that had perished on the other side, the Journeyless. Those dead were not reborn, not remade in Aman. Their threads bound them to Endórë and they dwelt in a silver realm of shadow where they became known to the living on the other side as _thúlë_ , the spirit breath, the elemental spirits of Endórë. And only during _Nuruhuinë_ was the border between the living and dead rendered porous. No matter what the belief, the elves of Aman all looked forward to the time when those who perished in the early times, before the Journey was completed, would return. It was a time of reunion. Yet it was unlike any reunion of the living for the _thúlë_ were no longer elvish. They were another thing entirely: like fire, air, earth, and water, with a mischievous yet strangely melancholic song. _Thúlë_ needed to be coaxed, shown the way, reminded of those things they loved in life. And this is what the _thúlë_ also desired, to be reunited with loved ones long sundered. Theirs was an intense yearning and love to their kin, manifested in the strangest of ways-goose bumps on the flesh, a breeze where there is no wind, whispers from afar when one is alone, and a buzzing warmth, like an embrace from the stars.

 

This was the one time the Haldanurs practiced openly in Tirion for they kept the ritual of _Nuruhuinë_ , helping those who’d forgotten its ways build the altars, sing the songs, and raise smoke and scent to the _thúlë_ , opening the doors between realms. It was a time of great peace amongst the elves, where rivalries were set aside, and folks came together to reminisce and make ready. But not for Findekáno. Atanalcar was fury bent on making his life miserable. Atanalcar made no peace, continued his scheming.

 

So lost was Findekáno in his thoughts he failed to see an elf carrying a large bundle of bright golden flowers recently harvested for _Nuruhuinë_ who was likewise distracted with her large load, heading in his direction.  Findekáno felt himself crash into someone or something. It was certainly someone as he heard a yell. Too late, Findekáno thought, as he reached his hand out to the elf maiden tumbling to the ground her golden flowers raining down upon them.

 

“My apologies, my lady,” Findekáno sheepishly replied, as he checked over the woman who was sitting on the floor, the surprise of her fall leaving her a bit dazed.

 

“I think I am whole my lord,” the maiden replied, taking a moment to recover her wits. She eyed the flowers strewn all over the cobblestone street. “If you will help me, my lord, I can make haste and save these flowers from being trampled on.”

 

“Certainly, my lady,” Findekáno answered, after assuring himself the woman was uninjured. He and the maiden set themselves to collect the flowers, Findekáno placing the flowers in the basket in the manner he saw the woman perform her delicate task.

 

“You are Prince Nolofinwë’s eldest, are you not?” the elf maiden inquired, stealing a glance here and there to confirm her suspicions. She did not live in Tirion. She lived out in the farmlands so she was not as familiar with the faces of those that belonged to the Royal houses.

 

“I am my lady,” Findekáno nodded, “Findekáno Nolofinwion at your service.” He bowed his head and then moved around to help her strap the large basket to her back. “I forget it is the beginning of _Nuruhuinë,”_ Findekáno shared, offering an apologetic smile.

 

“Tis indeed my lord and I must apologize that I must be on my way for I do not want to be late in my delivery,” the elf maiden replied.

 

“No need, my lady. May I escort you?” Findekáno inquired, surprised by his own impetuousness.

 

“Of course, my lord,” the elf maiden replied, also surprised by Findekáno’s unexpected offer. She’d heard many stories of the King’s grandchildren, though it seemed that most were male, which was a boon for all the unattached elf maidens of all the clans. The most eligible was one Nelyafinwë, son of Prince Fëanáro, Finwë’s eldest and appointed heir. She blushed at the thought of the handsome prince, his long deep reddish hair and deep grey eyes. She had occasion to see him as he frequented the fertile growing lands as Finwë’s representative, helping adjudicate issues that arose around water use.

 

Findekáno was, like her, near his majority, the glow of youth stubbornly clinging to him. He was tall, a bit lanky, the weight of age not yet filling the contours of childhood. He was unlike Nelyafinwë. Findekáno’s hair raven black, his eyes the deepest dark blue, like his grandmother Indis of the Vanyar the elf maiden mused. His full lips and high cheekbones gave him a bit of a feminine beauty, but the square of his jaw belied the vigor of the House of Finwë that would soon render his beauty into something more bold and vigorous. She liked him this way, in this moment, as he walked silently next to her, but not in shyness. He was studying her like she him.

 

“What thoughts preoccupy my lord?” the elf maiden asked, not hindered by the awe that Tirion born elves held the Royal family in.

 

“Your life, my lady,” Findekáno answered honestly. “I ask myself and I guess now I ask you aloud what duties move you? Is your life circumscribed, beset by rules and expectations?”  Findekáno paused, a frown appearing as he turned to stare directly at the elf maiden, “And what you must think of my rudeness for I have no asked your name.”

 

The elf maiden laughed, “Lávariel, my lord, and my duties are to help my House with our collective work. And no, I would not say my life is circumscribed by rules; my life is guided by my will and desire to aid my family and know that they wish me joy and happiness.”

 

Findekáno’s face now reflected back the warmth and generous smile that Lávariel gifted him. “Lávariel,” Findekáno replied, “A name appropriate for a maiden who bears the golden flowers that guide and reunite the living and the dead.”

 

Lávariel inclined her head, “Tis true, I was named for the flowers we grow and nurture from seed. In fact the lot of us are thus named,” the elf maiden smiled as she spoke to Findekáno. “I am arrived my lord Findekáno,” she spoke, for the first time using his name as she paused in front of the home awaiting her delivery.

 

“Then I take my leave Lady Lávariel,” Findekáno held his hand to his heart, offering his new found friend a farewell.

 

“And I of you Lord Findekáno. Do come out to visit my home.”

 

“But how do I find you?” Findekáno asked, motivated by honest curiosity.

 

“Seek the gardens of Vána. There at the entrance you shall find the lands we care for.”

 

“I shall Lávariel,” Findekáno answered less formally, more warmly, sensing this elf could be someone he came to value as a friend.

 

“And I shall look forward to it Findekáno,” Lávariel responded, likewise dropping any semblance of formality. With that she turned towards the door and was let in, disappearing within the home.

 

Findekáno sighed, though his mood was lightened. He turned and made his way to Atanalcar’s, though this time he was determined he was not going to let the elf spoil his mood.

 

)()()()(

 

Findekáno stood over the elf, his hands in fists, his breathing heavy. The elf on the floor was moaning, wiping away the blood that trickled from his mouth with a handkerchief. He was too stunned to look up at the aggressor who towered over Atanalacar. Atanalacar’s house attendant, Mancarion, stood off to the side, his hand over his mouth in shock. Just moments earlier Atanalcar was refusing Mancarion’s request to leave early to make it home in time for _Nuruhuinë_. Atanalcar insisted he needed Mancarion to stay and finish polishing the silverware for a dinner he was hosting. Mancarion never believed his request would be denied. It was only a formality after all for all understood the importance of _Nuruhuinë_ ; thus when Atanalcar refused him Mancarion had uncharacteristically questioned his lord, which earned him the wrath of Atanalcar. But what followed was unexpected…

 

_moments earlier_

“Stand down Atanalcar!” a voice from behind Mancarion boomed. It was the young Lord Findekáno, though youthful he did not sound.

 

Atanalacar retorted, “Mind your business _liegeman_ ,” emphasizing the last word with contempt and scorn.

 

“You make it my business Atanalacar,” Findekáno replied steadily but with a fire growing in his eyes. If Atanalacar had taken time to observe Findekáno he would have seen this fire, his hands clenching at his side, his nostrils flaring every so subtly, but Atanalcar was arrogant. Careful observation was lost to him for it fell outside the purview of his self-centeredness.

 

“I am not your liegeman now Atanalcar,” Findekáno addressed the elder elf directly, dropping any semblance of his serving role.

 

Atanalcar dropped Mancarion’s arm and turned his wrath towards Findekáno. “You, little lord, will not address me thusly in my own home. Mind your place.” Atanalcar stepped towards Findekáno, attempting to threaten the young elf.

 

Findekáno was not intimidated. “No Atanalcar,” Findekáno replied, his voice not yet betraying his ire, “When you break the codes of conduct, it IS my place to reprimand you for no longer am I your apprentice. I am your Lord and you will apologize to your attendant for your violence, or-“

 

“-Or what little Lord,” Atanalcar refusing to let down, continuing to belittle Findekáno not yet formally come of age. Atanalcar put his hand on Findekáno’s chest to push him back, though try he might, he could not make Findekáno budge.

 

Findekáno gifted him a feral smile. “Remove your hand or I will respond in like,” Findekáno replied.

 

Mancarion stood back, not sure what to do or say.

 

Atanalcar was too arrogant to stand aside, opting for using his full strength to push Findekáno back against a wall.  Instead, when Atanalcar pushed Findekáno, Findekáno responded by grabbing the elder elf and throwing him back. Atanalcar landed with a thud against a wall, sending decorative plates crashing to the floor. Atanalacar recovered himself,  righting himself, his eyes for a moment betraying arrogance that was turning to dread. Unthinking, he stepped towards Findekáno, not intending to threaten the young elf, but so unused to such physical confrontation, Atanalcar did not know how to react.

 

Findekáno, on the other hand was used to such confrontations as he and his cousins often engaged in sparring that sometimes became heated, saw Atanalcar’s steps toward him as continued engagement, and landed a punch on the elder elf’s jaw sending him spiraling back and onto the floor…

 

Mancarion finally broke his stunned silence. “My lord, it is done,” Mancarion addressed Findekáno who stood over Atanalcar’s prone body. “It is done my lord,” he repeated, trying to soothe Findekáno.

 

Findekáno gathered his wits, stepping back, taking in the scene before him.

 

Mancarion helped Atanalcar up. Atanalcar slowly stood, still reeling in pain from his altercation with Findekáno. “You!” he pointed accusatorily at Findekáno, “out of my home.” Findekáno opened his mouth to speak, but thought the better for it, though before he left Atanalcar’s home he turned and spoke to the elder elf. “If I find out that Mancarion was not released to spend _Nuruhuinë_ with his family, you will answer to me.”

 

Atanalcar, gathering his wits, replied, “And your father and King will hear of this affront. You shall be punished Nolofinwion.”

 

Findekáno slammed the door behind him and left before his temper got the better of him. He was in no mood to return and speak to his father. If he could not assert his power as a Prince to address a wrong, what good was his station? He thought if his aunt Lalwen’s daughters, the twins. Enelyë and Lindórië certainly did not have to negotiate the terrain he did, that all firstborn sons had to traverse. He should have been born a maiden and all the training, all the machinations of his family would be solely focused on Turukáno!

 

He was certainly going to hear from his father, about his temper and comporting himself as a proper Prince. No, Nolofinwë would not deny Atanalacar’s wrong, but he certainly would hold Findekáno responsible for the final punch that sent the worm to the ground. “Too much of an insult for worms,” Findekáno thought aloud. “Worms have worth,” Findekáno grumbled as he rushed ahead, not thinking of where he was going, what direction he was headed in. Findekáno offered a silent apology to worms, industrious little beings that made soils rich, provided food for birds, and were certainly necessary little creatures. This lightened his mood as he remembered lessons with tutors about the use and worth of worms. He remembered those times Maitimo would let Findekáno, Tyelkormo and Makalaurë accompany him out to the fertile lands where the earthworms were large and plentiful, making the soil rich. Maitimo would stop and point out some fact, explaining the hows and whys of many a thing. Findekáno enjoyed these outings the most. He wished at times, his parents had not waited as long to have Turukáno so he could have a companion like Fëanáro’s sons had one another, but such things that were could not be changed.

 

Findekáno slowed, the pungent but sweet smell of burning resin wafted into the air. The special resin was taken from the singular trees that dotted the hillsides of Tirion and were carefully tended for each stripping of the bark to produce resin lessened the flowering season.* The resin was placed on a latticed metal coin size dish, under which a candle was kept burning to raise the smoke. The smell of it was strong here, but where was here? Findekáno looked around him, realizing he had left the dense cityscape of Tirion and was now out on the lower lying hills that rolled along less steeply.

 

He was before a large farmhouse and behind it the Lonesome trees, as they were called, stood like sentries. He was surprised to see so many in one location. They were notoriously impossible to cultivate, but here they were in large numbers. This must be the residence of one, or many strong in Halda for only those that came from Endórë tended the lonely trees, so valued for the resin that was burned on _Nuruhuinë_ , guiding _thúlë_ , the dead from the beyond to the homes of their loved ones. Why this particular smoke was used, Findekáno could not say, though to him, it reminded him of death, of this time that came not frequently even for Elvish reckoning of time. Curiously it had come three times in the span of Findekáno’s short life. Elves did not question why, as _Nuruhuinë--_ fickle at times while other times a frequent visitor --nonetheless came to pass during harvest season but was never a seasonal constant.

 

The notion that _Nuruhuinë_ reminded him of death was not lost on Findekáno. He was lucky to not know death personally, nevertheless those that had made the Journey knew it well. He knew the names of his ancestors that were left on the other side, both living and dead. It saddened him knowing that they were sundered, some more permanently. It also angered him, though he dared not ask why it was so or share his thoughts on the matter. He knew they were rebellious thoughts and rebellion was not a favored topic.

 

Findekáno startled as he heard a voice from behind him. “You seem lost young one,” a woman’s voice announced.

 

Findekáno spun around to face the woman, ageless as is typical of elves. She was tall and pale, her dark her unbound hanging well beneath her waste. In her hands she had a bundle of flowers, freshly cut. She was dressed in a simple tunic and trousers. She was old, very old. Her eyes were like those of his grandfather. “You are those we call Unbegotten,” Findekáno declared without hesitation.

 

“I am young one,” the elder elf answered, her head cocked to the side, studying the young elf. “What brings you out this way?” the woman asked.

 

“I am not sure,” Findekáno stuttered, looking at his surroundings. The fields were yellowing and the trees that lined the road wore leaf crowns of golds and reds, marking the turning of the season, the turning of the earth to slumber. How he had made it this far out was lost on him. “I was upset about something and I just walked and walked, though I cannot say I made my way here purposefully.”

 

The maiden watched him, her piercing grey eyes following Findekáno’s gaze as he took in his surroundings. “Perhaps,” she spoke after a long pause, “perhaps you were meant to find your way here. What troubles you?”

 

Findekáno looked up and down the road, well worn by the wagons that bore the loads of goods in and out of Tirion. He turned to face the road as it meandered away from Tirion to other parts of Aman, “and beyond,” he muttered to himself. “I’ve been here before,” he mumbled, “it has no end.” The last revelation surprised him. He looked at the woman who was watching him, listening to him.

 

She shook her head in understanding. “It is the smoke, the smell of it. It is peeling away the layers and layers of thought and land that separate us from our kin on the other side.”

 

“You mean the dead,” Findekáno clarified, peering down the road through his fingers shaped like a circle, which he used as a scope trying to locate the ephemeral end of the road.

 

“Yes and no,” the elf answered.

 

Findekáno stopped his searching of the road, returning his attention to the elf maiden. He recognized her for what she was, a Haldanur, a keeper of the veil.

 

The elf maiden laughed, a breezy sound that lifted with the smoke to the beyond, and where that beyond was, Findekáno did now know. “ _Nuruhuinë_ opens more than the doors between the world of the living here and the dead over there,” she pointed to lands beyond her fingers, across the sundering seas. “There are doors of perception, doors that open allowing the energies, the songs of the two worlds, split by imperfect gods, mingle. If you listen you can hear the melody.”*

 

“But Arda marred,” Findekáno replied, thinking of the taint and darkness that had fallen upon them.

 

“Arda marred,” the elder elf laughed. “Listen young one, listen and you will hear the Song, the Songs are unmarred, complete, harmonious. It is only when the borders are shut that the melody is marred, only then,” she reminded Findekáno, speaking words that were hushed over, secreted, locked in boxes of memory, to never be spoken for they were named heresy.

 

Findekáno leaned towards the endless road, listening, the sounds growing, the music like an enchantment. The melody was like darkness and light, all encompassing and transient, bold and delicate. It was whole and it was the most beautiful thing he had ever heard.  Findekáno closed his eyes, and his breath caught as he understood he lived half a life.

 

“I feel riven, split in two, incomplete,” he whispered, eyes again peering down the enchanted road.

 

The elf maiden did not speak. There was no need. This was the young elf’s time, time to explore the merging of the worlds and attempt to make sense of the revelations he would receive.

 

“I think,” he spoke, “that had I been born a maiden that maybe my life would be easier.”

 

“Do you now?” the elf maiden asked, a smile appearing on her ageless and beautiful face. This was certainly an unexpected answer. “But what of your loves, of your commitments? Indeed your valor?”

 

“My valor,” Findekáno retorted. “My valor is nothing more than my hot-headedness…” Findekáno’s voice trailed off. The road beyond him beckoned. The smoke wafted in the direction of it. “And my loves, my loves are unrequited and impossible,” he whispered.

 

“Young one,” the elder elf cautioned, “wariness should guard your soul against such requests, especially on these occasions that time and space slip between our fingers.” But it was too late, the young elf was headed down the road. She could follow. She knew better. She’d seen it before. He would find his way back, but it would take some doing on his part.

 

)()()()(

 

Findekáno felt something in his back, like a stabbing pain. There was a cold wetness seeping into him. Slowly he opened his eyes, finding himself looking at the expansive sky above, the golden light of Laurelin beginning to warm the lands of Aman. “Oh,” he groaned, lifting his hand to his head. He had a terrible headache. He tasted dirt in his mouth. He sat up trying to spit out the offending clumps of grass and earth. How, what had happened? The last thing he remembered he was walking down a road.

 

“Where am I?” he asked aloud or so he thought. Turning around him he looked to see who had spoken for him, but there was no elf maiden near by. He called out, “hello-“ but there it was again a maiden’s voice, but it was coming from him!

 

Carefully standing up, his body sore and covered in mud, he looked around. There was not a single building or home within elven sight. He tested his voice once more, “Hello.” There it was again, not his voice, but that of a maiden. Something must have happened to his voice, he thought. Findekáno reasoned he needed to make his way back to Tirion. He felt unwell, not like himself. Whatever was wrong with his voice was also affecting his stride. His balance was different. He must be dizzy with sickness. So he gathered himself as best he could and made his way back in the direction of Tirion on Tuna. The Mindon appeared on the horizon, jutting out from beyond the hills that rolled down to where he found himself.

 

He looked around and recognized the road. He was on the road to Formenos, at the bend in the road where vision was most limited. Findekáno considered heading to Formenos but decided against it knowing that his uncle and cousins were in Tirion. Maitimo was the only one not in Tirion. He was spending time in the service of Aulë, a last effort to appease his father, knowing that the making of things--while he was skilled at it--was not a first love; not like it was for Fëanáro. Findekáno frowned. It had been too long since he had seen Maitimo. Better that he not see him now as it seemed Findekáno had fallen or rolled into a ditch as a result of whatever ailed him. He hoped it wasn’t too serious. And then he remembered, his altercation with Atanalacar. Well whatever ailed him was not the worst of it.

 

It dawned on Findekáno that his father could not be as severe with Findekáno so sick. He counted himself blessed for his sickness. Then he heard it, the sound of horses, or rather a horse, coming around the bend from Tirion. Findekáno made haste to meet up with the rider. Maybe fortune was at last on his side. As the rider came into the open, Findekáno was taken aback, it was Maitimo. He was at once joyous and nervous. Maitimo would certainly only see a tall lanky youth covered in mud and grass. He would not see that though youthful Findekáno was growing into himself, no longer as awkward and strange looking as when last Maitimo had seen Findekáno.

 

Maitimo spotted him raising his hand in greeting, spurring his horse on to hasten their meeting. Maitimo pulled up in front of Findekáno, his horse cantering and dancing from side to side in excitement.

 

“There you are,” Maitimo called out. His dark red hair was bound in a long braid and he wore riding clothes, clothes that had journeyed longer than the road from Tirion to where he found himself in front of Findekáno.

 

Findekáno raised his hand in awkward greeting, unwilling to speak and betray his womanly voice to Maitimo.

 

Maitimo jumped off his steed and swept Findekáno up into a tight embrace. “You had the whole of Tirion looking for you. I am so relieved I have found you.” Maitimo looked over his cousin tenderly, checking the scrapes on Findekáno’s arms. “You took quite a tumble,” Maitimo spoke as he carefully looked over his cousin.

 

“I am well,” Findekáno whispered, not wanting to worry his cousin more than he already was with his feminine voice.

 

“Are you sure?” Maitimo asked, doubt clouding his eyes. Findekáno did not reply. “Very well then,” Maitimo continued, lifting Findekáno onto the horse. Findekáno made to protest. He certainly was able to get onto the horse without Maitimo’s help. He was no child. But Maitimo kept fussing over him. Findekáno had enough.

 

“I can climb on a horse on my own with no need of your help,” Findekáno replied, though his voice betrayed the feminine tone it had taken on.

 

Maitimo stepped back, a grin warming his fair face. “That you can,” he replied, a teasing tone to his voice.

 

“And say nothing of my voice,” Findekáno retorted.

 

Maitimo held his hands up as if in defeat.

 

Findekáno settled onto the horse and turned to offer his arm to Maitimo who looked up at him with much amusement. Maitimo took Findekáno’s outstretched hand and jumped on his horse, behind Findekáno. He wrapped one arm around Findekáno’s waste and with the other grabbed the light reigns. Findekáno was going to protest Maitimo’s over protectiveness. He was no longer a child, though clearly Maitimo still perceived Findekáno that way. Yet the feel of Maitimo’s strong arm gathering him into his body felt good. He could not protest that.

 

They made their way back to Tirion at a leisurely pace so as not to jostle Findekáno in case his injuries were more than they appeared. Maitimo was the first to break the silence. “So tell me, what happened with Atanalcar.”

 

Findekáno’s face paled. He would have to face up to it sooner than later. Muttering, he replied, “I punched him. I landed a good hit straight on his jaw, sending him sprawling back.”

 

Maitimo laughed. Findekáno could feel the rolling of his laughter reverberate in Maitimo’s chest and into him, causing him to shiver. “I heard!” Maitimo chuckled. “He deserved more than that.” Maitimo’s voice grew serious, causing Findekáno to turn back and look at Maitimo in that typical way of Findekáno’s, bold and direct, not hiding that he was searching another’s eyes.

 

Maitimo stiffened as Findekáno searched him. Shaking his head and turning away, he added, “What he did to you shall not go unpunished Findírë. I will hang him by his-” Maitimo cut himself short.

 

“Did you just call me Findírë?” Findekáno asked, unsure if he heard Maitimo correctly.

 

Maitimo was now clearly confused. “Cousin, I did.”

 

“And why would you call me that?” Findekáno demanded, his anger starting to rise.

 

“Because that is your name. Findírë are you well?” Maitimo replied, his brows furrowed in growing concern.

 

“You did it again, called me Findírë! I know my voice is sounding feminine but there is no need to torment me for it.” Findekáno was growing more agitated, deciding he needed to turn away from Maitimo, to prevent himself from socking Maitimo in the face as well.

 

“Findírë!!” Maitimo cried out, then as if speaking to himself, added, “You must have taken a really hard hit to the head if you do not remember your name.”

 

Findekáno spun around to face Maitimo directly, almost bringing the two off the horse.

 

“Steady now,” Maitimo whispered, as he repositioned the two elves more securely on the horse.

 

Instead of mirth, Findekáno found Maitimo was gazing back at him, his anxious face reflecting only concern. Maitimo reached for and took hold of Findekáno’s hands. “I would not have recognized you had I seen you in Tirion so much have you changed. Why would you recriminate your voice that betrays its womanhood?” Maitimo was being earnest.

 

Findekáno was now alarmed looking down at his hands held in Maitimo’s hands. They were much smaller than he knew them to be, more delicate, and very feminine! What in Eru was happening? He felt his body, finding it, like his hands, feminine in form. Without thinking he grabbed his chest and there found his breasts, not just swollen but large and rounded. Findekáno’s face reflected utter terror.

 

Maitimo was spooked. Normally a maiden grabbing her breasts in such a manner would have amused Maitimo, but the look on Findírë’s face betrayed that something was terribly and utterly wrong. “Let us make haste and get you help,” Maitimo breathed urging his steed to gallop.

 

Findekáno curled himself against Maitimo who eclipsed him with his size. He must be hallucinating, stuck in some feverish dream, but then the words of the elf maiden he encountered before his memory loss came to him: _“wariness should guard your soul against such requests, especially on these occasions that time and space slip between our fingers.”_ And what requests were those that she warned him against? Findekáno remembered. He wished he was a maiden. It could not be!!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> )()()()(
> 
> atto-father
> 
> Endórë- middle earth
> 
> * Nolmë- knowledge, philosophy (including science), here used more akin to rationalism. Here it is used interchangeably as a type of knowledge and as a descriptor for a belief system.
> 
> Halda- veiled, hidden, shadowed, shady. Halda is used interchangeably to refer to elves that made the Journey and crossed what is referred to as the Veil, coming from lands cast in shadow to Eldamar and the light of the Two Trees and to the belief system brought and practiced by those who Journeyed from the Outer Lands. Thus Halda is used to refer to a group of a people or a belief system and/or its related practices. When referring to the people I use the phrase, the Halda. When referring to the practices or belief system I use the word Halda.
> 
> *Akin to frankincense resin
> 
> *Many a great fanfiction author has written descriptions of how Elves interact with the Song of creation. In my early works I explored this in Creation Song of Iluvutar, though I must say here I am influenced by the manner in which Ziggy, Alpha Ori, and others use the concept of Song and elves.


	2. On a wish fulfilled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A silly little story I am enjoying writing. Nothing too deep. I hope you enjoy. 
> 
> Findekáno - Findírë  
> Kurufinwë/Kurvo-Curufin  
> Nelyafinwë /Maitimo/Russandol/Nelyo -Maedhros  
> Tyelkormo/ Turkafinwë /Turko-Celegorm
> 
> unbeta’d. apologies for the mistakes I miss

Chapter 2: On a wish fulfilled

 

Maitimo held Findírë close to him as they galloped into Nolofinwë’s courtyard. Cries could be heard, “He has found her!” Voices were mustering Nolofinwë’s house to action.  A healer ran up to Maitimo as he brought his steed to an abrupt stop. Nolofinwë had run out and was now anxiously standing beside the healer awaiting the return of his daughter who had been set upon by Atanalacar.

 

Maitimo made to hand Findírë down to the waiting arms of Nolofinwë but Findírë protested. “I can get down myself. I am no elf child.” Findírë reproached Maitimo sounding more sullen than she intended. As Findírë tried to dismount she felt dizzy and collapsed back into Maitimo. Maitimo picked Findírë up into his arms and carefully slid off the horse handing Findírë into her father’s waiting arms.

 

Findírë tried to object, but found she was slipping out of conscious. She must have truly hit her head in whatever accident befell her.

 

Nolofinwë held his daughter close to him as he followed the healer into his home, Maitimo behind them. Maitimo could see that Nolofinwë was despondent. Nolofinwë blamed himself for Findírë’s state. Fëanáro had let Maitimo know as much when the latter arrived from his time with Aulë. Maitimo did not have time to change out of his riding clothes, so concerned was he for Findírë that he volunteered to ride out on the road to Formenos in case Findírë set out that way.

 

What Maitimo found out enraged him. The division between the Noldor was certainly growing pronounced, but so were the misdeeds of some. Findírë was attending Atanalcar’s sister as was custom for young ladies in training being readied for their coming of age, when Atanalcar happened on Findírë alone and made advances that resulted in a mighty struggle between the two.  If it had been another maiden, she might not have escaped with her virtue, but Findírë was tall and strong like her grandmother Indis and her mother Anairë. Atanalcar had not expected that Findírë would be versed in the arts of sparring as she often sparred with Turko who loved to cross the line and enrage Findírë to the point that she would descend on the fair-haired elf with all her strength. Though he would come out the worse for it, Turko enjoyed the closeness he provoked. Fortunately for Findírë an attendant happened upon the scene, surprising Atanalcar. The momentary break in the struggle was the opportunity Findírë needed. With one swift move she punched the elder elf knocking him to the ground. Her dress torn from Atanalcar’s attack, Findírë fled the home, distraught. This was the last they had seen of her, until Maitimo found her.

 

The healer spoke up upon entering her room, “I must ask that only the queen and Lady Anairë attend Findírë with me for I must inspect her and request you honor her privacy.”

 

“Certainly,” Nolofinwë replied, pausing at the door as Anairë and Indis sat next to Findírë who was now laid on her bed, her breathing shallow and face pale. Purple bruises were making themselves present. It had been a mighty struggle.

 

Nolofinwë strode away angrily, cursing under his breath, leaving Maitimo and others behind. He disappeared into his private quarters where Maitimo and the other elves could not follow. Soon enough, Nolofinwë emerged with his ceremonial sword and walked towards the door to exit.

 

Maitimo made to stop him, but Nolofinwë pushed him away. Maitimo would not let up, more forcefully grabbing Nolofinwë’s arm. Nolofinwë turned, enraged, “Do not hinder me young one. Do not touch me!”

 

“Uncle,” Maitimo breathed, stepping back in shock at his Uncle’s words, though he understood Nolofinwë’s fury, he was taken aback by Nolofinwë’s uncharacteristic rage. Any action under such emotions might lead to unexpected troubles for the House of Nolofinwë. Knowing this, Maitimo crossed Nolofinwë once again, placing himself in front of his uncle, firmly calling out to him, “Uncle, not like this!”

 

But Nolofinwë was not hearing reason. With a hand he threw Maitimo aside, bellowing that no one could refute his right to punish Atanalacar. This was the first reported attack on one of the Royal House. “I am announcing my right to seek retribution under the First Laws. No one, not the Valar, can refuse this!” he spat out as walked with a fierce determination out into the courtyard.

 

“I can and will make you refuse this,” a voice announced. It was Fëanáro. His face also grim. For all that saw them in that moment the two brothers were so alike that one might not tell them apart but for their clothing. There was fire in both their eyes. Fëanáro, while furious with Atanalacar was more concerned with what his brother might do, what he would do; but killing the elf would not make Findírë whole, change what happened. Fëanáro understood that Nolofinwë ultimately blamed himself for allowing Findírë to attend Atanalacar’s sister, but no one expected Atanalacar’s loathsomeness to grow so dark. Fëanáro stood before his brother, intending to stand between Nolofinwë and whatever end he had in mind.

 

Nolofinwë gritted his teeth, “Do not stand before me brother, I cannot answer for what I will do.”

 

“Nay, you will answer to me Nolofinwë.” Fëanáro growled back. “You will answer to me or you choose to leave here and condemn your family to isolation. Think on it brother.”

 

Nolofinwë paused. His hand was on the hilt of his half drawn sword.

 

The courtyard was silent. Not a bird was chirping, not an animal made to move. Even the breeze stilled itself. The atmosphere was electric. Those watching held their breath. Maitimo looked back and forth between the two elves. He’d hate to face either of them at the height of their wrath. He trusted his father, and yet he was unsure of Nolofinwë the only elf thus armed.

 

Fëanáro stood before Nolofinwë, his arms held out so the latter could see he was not armed. Fëanáro continued to talk to Nolofinwë attempting to break through the wall of rage that radiated like dragon-fire. “You have the right to answer under First Laws but you will loose the faith of the people of Tirion. Remember this brother,” Fëanáro pleaded, his voice growing quieter as Nolofinwë grabbed hold of Fëanáro’s arm, digging into his elder brother’s flesh.

 

Fëanáro flinched. “Remember your strength brother. I am not your enemy.” Tentatively and patiently, Fëanáro was soothing Nolofinwë. What the brothers shared between them was not betrayed by their silence. The fire in Nolofinwë’s eyes would not be tempered, but Fëanáro was now able to use _sanwë-latya_ , thought opening, to reach Nolofinwë. What finally broke Nolofinwë’s mad rage was the sound of Turukáno bounding out of the house, sobbing, crying out for Nolofinwë.

 

“Atto!” Turukáno cried out, “Please do not go, atto please!”

 

Nolofinwë dropped his hand from his sword and his shoulders slumped as he turned to face his youngest that ran to him, hugging Nolofinwë desperately, willing him to say put. Nolofinwë held Turukáno closely, allowing the feel of his young son’s sobbing bury his anger. “Turno, my little son, do not worry. I am staying right here, with you.”

 

Turukáno looked up expectantly at his father, “Truly atto, you will not do something scary?”

 

“I will not _yonya,”_ Nolofinwë replied, wiping the tears away from his son’s face.

 

“Will Findírë be well?” Turukáno’s scared voice squeaked.

 

Nolofinwë could not answer. He truly did not know how Findírë fared.

 

Fëanáro tentatively placed a hand on Nolofinwë’s shoulder, which elicited a nod of the head from Nolofinwë, acknowledging Fëanáro’s support.

 

Maitimo broke the silence amongst those who watched the scene. “If I may speak,” Maitimo asked, eliciting a nod from Nolofinwë, “I believe Findírë will be well. When I found her she was her usual bold self, though tired, I think,” Maitimo shared, offering a warm smile to little Turukáno who clung to his father’s tunic. _Usual bold self_ , Maitimo thought to himself, at least that is how he thought of her from the letters they exchanged and the stories that Makalaurë and Turko shared with him. Maitimo had not seen Findírë for some time, while he toiled with Aulë. To an elf, his time with the Vala was not long, yet for one young like Findírë who was growing into adulthood, the time he spent away was considerable. Maitimo had left her a short, scrawny little thing whose nose was too big for her small, impish face, feet too big. In fact she reminded Maitimo of himself at that age. No one could say he would grow to be as tall as he was. Maitimo certainly hadn’t expected her to be so grown.

 

Turukáno eyed the tall elf somewhat suspiciously. He did not remember him.

 

Nolofinwë chuckled, his mood now lighter. “Turukáno do not greet your cousin Nelyafinwë with such manners. He is your Uncle Fëanáro’s eldest.”

 

Turukáno’s eyes lit up. “Findírë speaks very highly of you cousin,” he replied to Maitimo, though he did not release his father, just in case.

 

Fëanáro was clearly amused, taking the opportunity to keep the conversation on a lighter topic, he added, “Does she now Turno? What has she told you about my eldest?”

 

Turukáno turned his attention to his uncle, his eyes now wide with the awe in which he held Maitimo, the grandest of elves--at least that is what Findírë led him to believe. “She says he is the best with a sword and one of the most knowledgeable when it comes to things that should be known.”

 

Fëanáro was now truly amused. “Nolofinwë, did you know that your eldest thinks such little of her father and uncles?”

 

Nolofinwë watched Turukáno as he furrowed his eyebrows, confused, questioning whether he somehow got Findírë in trouble. “Indeed brother. It seems my nephew is held in higher regard. Such is the fate fathers and uncles must endure. Is that not right Maitimo?” Nolofinwë looked upon Maitimo with a renewed fondness. The young elf had tempted fury, putting himself before Nolofinwë at the height of his anger, thinking more for Nolofinwë than of himself.

 

Maitimo blushed.

 

Nolofinwë picked Turukáno up into his arms, kissing the young elf on the cheek. “Thank you Maitimo,” Nolofinwë continued, more earnestly.

 

Fëanáro guided Nolofinwë into the house. “Let us eat,” to which the elves gathered in the courtyard nodded their heads in agreement. Fëanáro glanced back at Maitimo giving him a look that spoke volumes. He was proud of his eldest. Maitimo felt his heart burst. Fëanáro did not have to speak his emotions, indeed he did not need broad strokes to show his feelings. Though Fëanáro was circumspect with such emotional displays, the look that Fëanáro shared with Maitimo was one of love and pride and the best welcome home Maitimo could have expected, despite the circumstances.

 

)()()()(

 

_Weeks later_

“Ama!!!” Findírë shrieked, causing Anairë to drop the book she was reading and run to her daughter’s room. Findírë had isolated herself following the attack. It had left her an emotional wreck. Findírë seemed not to know herself, but slowly, Findírë seemed to be finding herself again. But the sound of Findírë’s scream left Anairë cold.

 

Anairë did not find Findírë in her room. Her cries were coming from the washroom. Her heart in her throat Anairë rushed to Findírë. Had Findírë not remembered the full extent of her attack? Had more than Atanalacar’s groping and unwanted kisses been forced upon her dearest daughter than she initially recalled?

 

Findírë stood with blood on her hands, she was shaking her face pale. Amarië’s worst fears were seemingly confirmed. She had been violated and she was now recalling it, her body recoiling in memory of it.

 

“I am bleeding _ama_ , bleeding!” 

 

Anairë tried to soothe Findírë as she spoke, “My love are you remembering more from the attack. Did he, did he violate you?” Anairë could barely get the words out.

 

Findírë paused and looked at Anairë confused. “No mother! I told you he did not. Why would you ask that of me?”

 

Anairë was now just as confused, “The blood, your cries…I thought, I thought this is why you were bleeding.”

 

“No mother! Certainly not. I remember the entire incident.” Indeed Findírë was remembering the whole of her life as Findírë, Atanalacar’s attack, her struggle against him. She was remembering times before that, her time spent with her aunt Nerdanel, the times she escaped to roughhouse with Kano and Turko, the birth of Turukáno, her fascination with Maitimo. She would find herself forgetting Findekáno’s life, but she had come up with a way to remind herself. She would hold her fingers in the shape of a circle, like a scope, in front of her and peer through them, and see him, his life staring back at her. In this way she would remember herself, Findekáno, and ask if she wanted to return to that life.

 

In this moment she did. She woke up to find her back aching and her insides cramping. Upon lifting her nightgown to relieve herself (also an entirely strange process she had to learn) she found blood on her under pants. She screamed so terrified was she by the sight. Lucky for her these strange misunderstandings she had with herself, initially not remembering her life as Findírë, were chalked up to the attack and subsequent emotional turmoil it caused.

 

Anairë observed her daughter carefully. “Is something wrong with your cycle Findírë?”

 

Findírë’s face gained more color as realization dawned on her. Her cycle, of course! Oh how indeed dreadful it was to be a maiden in that moment. Findekáno had no idea!! Findírë fumbled with her words, “I, I just, I guess the sight of blood made me think for a second that I was soiled, as a maiden. Ama what are they saying. Is Tirion replete with gossip of my attack?”

 

“Oh Findírë,” Anairë cooed, hugging her daughter. “We will speak of this later.”

 

Findírë noticed that she was certainly more coddled as a maiden than she had been as Findekáno. “Ama,” she started, not sure how to broach the subject.

 

“What is it Findírë,” Anairë answered, releasing her daughter from her embrace and looking into her daughter’s face that was clearly trying to articulate an uncomfortable topic.

 

“I do not remember what to do…what to do with this,” Findírë pointed down to her bloodied under pants.

 

Anairë tried to conceal the concern her daughter’s revelation caused, believing Findírë’s reluctance and lack of memory regarding certain womanish things were a result of her rejecting that which rendered her a victim of Atanalacar. The healers had said as much, that Findírë was rejecting those things that indicated womanhood, rejecting the sexuality that prompted the attack. Findírë had quickly blossomed into a lovely young maiden, though she still had some growing to do. Anairë remembered how awkward it had been for her when she became aware that she crossed a threshold where men would look upon her with a different eye. For a young maiden, this could be unnerving.

 

Anairë delicately walked Findírë through the process of all that a woman’s cycle entails. “Findírë, I know it must be difficult that womanhood came so quickly upon you and that your innocence was so brutally taken, but dearest know that it is not all bad. There is also beauty in blossoming and breaking the threshold into maturity.” Anairë held her daughters face in her hands, tucking some loose strands of Findírë’s raven hair behind her ears.

 

Findírë was overcome with emotion, “Oh ama, you give me such comfort. More than you can know.” Findírë threw herself on her mother, burying her face in her mother.

 

Anairë stayed silent, running her hands through her daughter’s hair, allowing Findírë to purge herself of her emotions.

 

Anairë broke the silence, “Maitimo is joining us for dinner.”

 

Findírë’s head shot up.

 

“I thought you would like to thank your cousin for finding you and bringing you home safely, but if it is too much I will send word. He will understand.”

 

“Oh no, please do not. I would really like to see Maitimo. I, I would like to thank him…like you said,” Findírë stuttered. “Will you help me dress for dinner? I’d like to be pretty,” abruptly changing the topic of conversation.

 

“Of course Findírë,” Anairë laughed at Findírë’s quick change of disposition. To be young again.

 

“But do not make me overly pretty. Just pretty.” Findírë bit her lip, unsure how to describe what she wanted.

 

“And why this sudden desire?” Anairë asked, overcome with curiosity.

 

Findírë looked down as if searching for an answer. “I just want to let Maitimo know that I am well. That he need not worry.”

 

A quick look of concern clouded Amarië’s face as she observed her daughter fidget and blush, but she quickly schooled her face into an agreeable smile. She let the silence sit between them, noting that Findírë was debating whether to ask her more questions.

 

“Is Maitimo courting an elf, a maiden?” Findírë finally asked, correcting herself. Her curiosity more overwhelming than her need to be secretive.

 

“No, not to my knowledge,” Anairë answered, “and strangely enough, he has never been known to court a maiden for an extended period of time.” Anairë watched her daughter’s eyes widen and a small smile break her normally serious countenance. Well this was not unexpected, Anairë thought to herself. Nolofinwë and Anairë had anticipated the possibility of such feelings, but they had been more worried about Turko. Knowing her daughter’s delicate disposition, Anairë tried as gently as possible to dissuade her daughter form her fascination with Maitimo, though it was understandable. “You asked me whether he was courting an elf,” Anairë carefully inquired, hoping that Findírë had heard rumors of Maitimo’s preferences. Findírë did not answer, instead lowering her eyes to the ground as if she could find an answer there. Anairë continued, “I have heard that though he courts young women he also has a taste for men.” There she said it, holding her breath, hoping that Findírë would not be too upset by her words.

 

Findírë spoke tentatively, “I had not heard, or maybe I heard rumors, but I did not believe them to be true.” She was trying to hide a smile. Findekáno was breaking through.

 

Anairë was perplexed. First she thought her daughter was infatuated with Maitimo, but the thought of him with men made her blush more deeply, indeed seem giddy! And then Anairë thought she understood Findírë. It would be easier to have a crush on Maitimo knowing he could not, would not return her attention. That is it, Anairë nodded silently to herself. Oh good, she sighed with relief. “I will help you be pretty tonight, my lovely, lovely Findírë.”

 

“But not gaudy,” Findírë directed, “not with all the jewels that so many Noldorin ladies like to wear.”

 

Anairë laughed. Findírë was crinkling her nose in disgust, and soon the two were giggling and going through Findírë’s wardrobe picking out just what to wear. An attendant had brought Findírë a tea that would relieve her cramping , which prompted her to share with her mother, “It is certainly more challenging being a woman than I imagined.” Anairë was perplexed by her daughter’s state of mind. It seemed she was coming to her body anew, as if she had woken up one day and discovered she was a woman.

 

Findírë, spun around as the gossamer dress she had pulled out floated about her. “This is it,” she cooed.

 

“I am not so sure,” Anairë answered, not liking the décolleté neckline. When and where had Findírë acquired this dress. _Indis!_ Anairë thought to herself. Indis always indulged her grandchildren.

 

“No ama, this is it! Do I not remind you of the faeries described in the stories of Cuiviénen?”

 

Indeed Findírë looked like the spirit beings depicted in the lovely tapestries that hung in Finwë’s palace. Anairë and Nolofinwë had such a depiction hung in their sitting room, a painting of maidens dancing around a fire next the lake of Awakening. Anairë would indulge Findírë, “Very well. Do you want me to help me with your hair?”

 

Findírë turned to her mother, “No I think I would like to do it myself. Oh _ama_ , thank you!” Findírë breathed as she hugged her mother. She was thrilled she could more openly pursue Maitimo in this world, though some might frown on their relation, it was not forbidden. They were only half-cousins after all!  No matter what Maitimo thought, she would rejoice in this freedom. But would Maitimo see Findírë as simply a child? Would he think their relations too close? And just how much was he interested in maidens? Findírë, Findekáno’s curiosity was piqued.

 

“We greet your cousin in the sitting room at the mingling of the lights.” Anairë reminded Findírë as she closed the door behind her, her daughter’s excitement contagious. This was a certainly welcome turn of events. Anairë ran to find Nolofinwë informing him of Findírë’s change. At first he was apprehensive about Findírë’s seeming infatuation with Maitimo, but felt more at ease after Anairë reminded him that Maitimo was more likely attracted to men than women, was happy that his daughter was rebounding. Yet in the back of his mind Nolofinwë also knew Maitimo was not opposed to women, had courted some, though the results of such courtships came to nothing. Nevertheless…

 

)()()()(

 

Turukáno was the first in the sitting room, pacing back and forth over the elegant rugs laid out on the wood floors. Though there home was a villa, the décor was less imposing in the private side of the home, used for the daily lives of the family. Certainly there was a formal waiting room and dining room, but that was used on special occasions or for matters of politics. This sitting room was warm, a large hearth sitting on one end, a fire stoked, adding to the warmth of the room. The walls reflected the warmth of the fire, painted an earthy tone, mimicking the glow of the mingling of Laurelin and Telperion. Tapestries depicting early hunting scenes from before the Journey hung on the walls. Here and there Amarië’s paintings were hung. She favored the daily scenes of life, a mother nursing a child, a dog sitting, waiting for his master. They were not meant to decorate grand halls, but to remind her children of home. And there were books, always books. Even though they had a dedicated library, Anairë and Nolofinwë’s love of books spilled into all corners of their home.

 

Turukáno ran impatiently up to the bow window that looked out over the courtyard, to see if Maitimo was outside. Nolofinwë came into the room and watched his youngest look out for what was his latest source of fascination, his cousin Maitimo. “That makes two of you,” Nolofinwë spoke to no one in particular.

 

Turukáno turned, offering his father a bright smile, and bounded into Nolofinwë’s waiting arms. “What do you mean atto?”

 

“That makes two of us,” Nolofinwë repeated, “who eagerly await your cousins arrival.”

 

Turukáno excitedly nodded his head and jumped from his father’s arms to run back to the window, settling himself on the window seat.

 

Nolofinwë shook his head in amusement at his son’s antics. Turukáno and Findaráto had many fine elves which to look up to. Nolofinwë was proud of that, proud of the fine young men and women his brothers and sisters were raising, though Turkafinwë was a bit restless. Anairë had warned Nolofinwë that Findírë and Turko needed to be watched. Anairë and Nerdanel had observed that Turko noticed Findírë’s changes and was inquisitive. He was younger, and though young male elves were slower to mature, Turko was nonetheless curious. Better to be cautious, Anairë advised Nolofinwë, sharing that Nerdanel was of like mind. Young ones were curious, curious about their changing bodies after all.

 

Alcarcalimo, Nolofinwë’s attended, entered the waiting room, letting Nolofinwë know that dinner was ready.

 

Nolofinwë acknowledged Alcarcalimo, “Our guest should be here shortly. Nelyafinwë is nothing if not punctual and mindful of others’ time.”

 

Alcarcalimo nodded his head and disappeared back into the bowels of the villa.

 

“He is here!” Turukáno shouted, jumping off the window seat and running out to the large entry hall to greet Maitimo. Pacing back and forth at the top of the stairs of the entry room was Findírë. She could not contain her anticipation. She felt the electricity in the air. Somehow she just knew that the night would be all she anticipated, everything she hoped for. Findekáno shared in her excitement.

 

Turukáno threw the door open and ran out to meet Maitimo as he was handing his horse to a waiting elf.

 

“Maitimo!” Turukáno shouted as he ran towards the tall, red headed elf.

 

“Turno!” Maitimo answered as Turukáno jumped into his arms. “I am so happy you are the first to greet me!”

 

“Are you?” Turukáno asked with the innocence and awe typical of a child.

 

“I am,” Maitimo answered, as Turukáno settled on his hip to be carried, which Maitimo did without a thought so used to carrying his brothers in this way.

 

Anairë came to the door to greet Maitimo and extricate Turukáno from his arms. She hugged Maitimo, whispering into his ear, “I have not had the opportunity to thank you for bringing my Findírë back to me.”

 

Maitimo blushed, as was characteristic of him, “No need. I was simply lucky enough to be on the right road.” He offered Anairë one of his sheepish grins, tucking a loose curl behind his ear, wishing he could disappear. His aunt’s gaze on him made him uncomfortable, not because it was a bad thing, but because she was very beautiful.

 

Anairë laughed, guiding Maitimo into the entryway.  Maitimo paused before he allowed himself to be escorted to the receiving room. He felt a certain energy, a certain familiar warmth. He looked up and saw Findírë at the top of the stairs. His heart stopped beating, his breath escaped him. Standing before him was not the girl of his memories or the muddied and filthy maiden he had earlier aided, but a maiden blossoming, her bosom bursting, her full lips, supple and rosy. Her raven hair was worn loose save for the braid that crowned her head, woven with simple gold thread. Aah she was a vision, a faerie caught in bodily form that would soon disappear.

 

Findírë’s heart threatened to leap out of her body, beating wildly as she laid eyes upon Maitimo, so terribly handsome. His hair was loose, a wavy strand escaping here and there from its proper place. He wore a simple cotton tunic, a style in season that clung more tightly to the form. He certainly earned his name, well formed. His trousers were of the looser sort, tucked into finely made leather boots that came up to his knees.

 

Anairë did not notice the moment between the two as she was fussing with Turukáno who was kicking and being plain stubborn, refusing to be moved, for he did see the looks that passed between his sister and his cousin, but in his innocence he found them to be just right. After all, two such special people in his life should find one another equally special.

 

“Maitimo,” Findírë called out as she forced herself to descend the stairs.

 

“Findírë,” Maitimo replied, “I am glad to find you so recovered.” Her eyes were startling, a deep dark blue, in contrast to her honey colored skin, so very different than most, the best of her Noldorin and Vanyarin heritage. He dared not look down as she approached, her dress emphasized the beauty of her form.

 

Findírë now stood before him, feeling overwhelmed as she looked up into his face, dotted by faint freckles. He was broad of chest like her father and uncle, but taller. In a voice barely audible, Findírë shyly thanked Maitimo for his aid. “I wanted to thank you for finding me and being patient with me. I was not myself,” Findírë offered, biting her bottom lip and averting direct eye contact with Maitimo.

 

Anairë was now watching from a distance with a keen eye, Turukáno settled snugly against her, though he was really too big and long to be carried, but his family spoiled him so.

 

Maitimo impulsively grabbed Findírë’s hands in his own. “You do not need to apologize. You went through something traumatic. I only wish I had been more delicate.” Maitimo lowered his gaze to find Findírë’s, his hands enveloping hers. There was fire there, in their touch and both felt it, so much so that a blush began to blossom on their cheeks. Would Maitimo be so moved if it was Findekáno who stood before him? It did not matter, deep down, Findírë was Findekáno.

 

Findírë’s next actions surprised them all. She threw her arms around Maitimo. “You cannot imagine how happy I was to see you coming around the bend in the road. I missed you.” This was Findekáno, but it was also Findírë. The two sides were wholly one in this moment.

 

Maitimo felt himself melt into her embrace, forgetting where he was. “I, I missed you too,” understanding dawning on him. While he was away he anticipated receiving Findírë’s letters. She had a way of writing that was intimate, knowing what caused him to laugh or shake his head in disbelief, as if they lived many lives with one another. “I too felt great joy seeing you standing there and when I found you before me, I felt relief and warmth, for you stood there whole and tall.” Seeing her there, when he first found her on the road to Formenos, he understood that their letters to one another had come to reflect this. How he had not realized it he did not know, but here on this silver evening, with her in his arms, it came into place. It did not matter that she was his cousin, a woman, a man, only this person, only this person...that thought continued to echo in his mind.

 

Anairë came up to the couple and placed her hand on Maitimo’s shoulders. “Welcome, nephew,” she spoke dryly, emphasizing the last word of her statement. “Findírë,” release your cousin so we can make our way to dinner.” She purposefully used terms of kinship to remind the two they were family. _Only half-cousins_ , she thought to herself, though the thought was quickly banished from her mind. The potential of it was unnerving.

 

Anairë placed herself strategically between Findírë and Maitimo, handing Turukáno over to Maitimo who did not lament holding the young elf. He enjoyed Turukáno’s earnest boyish fascination. Maitimo remembered when he looked upon his uncle Nolofinwë in such a manner, much to his father’s amusement and younger Nolofinwë’s bewilderment. Kurvo certainly did not hold Maitimo in such high regard.

 

Nolofinwë emerged from within the kitchen to greet Maitimo. “I see my son has made himself at home with you Maitimo, much like I remember you when you were but a bit younger.”

 

Maitimo threw his head back in laughter as he went to greet his uncle. “I was just remembering that, uncle, how bewildered you were at first with my fascination.”

 

“I was but Findírë’s age, not as seasoned as you _yonya.”_ Nolofinwë replied, his face reflecting joy, both joy at the memories of his youth and joy at seeing his daughter shining.

 

Nolofinwë held his arm out to embrace his daughter. Findírë collapsed into her father’s warm embrace, an embrace that Findekáno reminded himself he could use more of.

 

“You are radiant my love,” Nolofinwë addressed his daughter, though he held his tongue in front of Maitimo, not wanting to comment on the revealing nature of the dress. He mentally shrugged. If Anairë agreed to it, then who was he to say otherwise. Fashions changed. So he chose to focus instead on the radiance of his daughter. She truly had grown into her beauty. For a moment, this frightened Nolofinwë. It was partly what drove Atanalacar to attack her, that and his contempt for anything of the House of Finwë. Yet even before that ugly incident tongues were wagging, wondering who Nolofinwë would marry his eldest to. She could have anyone, her unique beauty was a boon for the politically minded, but Nolofinwë did not see it this way. He did not want to rush her into marriage. He wanted her to have her youth, to grow into herself, find her mind, as he would for Turukáno.

 

Knowing that Findírë was infatuated with Maitimo from a safe distance, Nolofinwë hoped he could, through Maitimo, convey such thoughts to Findírë. He would speak with her directly but he would be gentle about it at first.

 

)()()()(

 

Dinner had been delightful. The family fell into a comfortable discussion over the table, discussing the preparations that were soon to come for _Nuruhuinë_ that was weeks away _._ With Nolofinwë’s encouragement, Maitimo found himself urging Findírë to pursue more serious studies to which Findírë enthusiastically agreed. She had always believed that her path would not be the typical one laid out for maidens. She said as much. It seemed, for Findekáno that being a maiden was certainly a better position to be in. Maybe this life, for him, now she, was better?

 

Nolofinwë could only encourage his daughter’s ideas, knowing that the more she pursued her studies, the less the political vultures would try to influence her once she officially came of age.  He would have no control over her once she made a public life for herself. Better for her to think about these choices before some elf tried to woo her.

 

Attention at dinner turned to Maitimo’s time with Aulë. Maitimo entertained the group, regaling them with stories of how he would irritate the Vala and make up for his shortcomings in inventive ways. Anairë was reminded that Maitimo was utterly charming. It was in part why he had such a reputation, was so sought after. Not only was he handsome and well positioned, he was smart, funny, and self-deprecating a rare trait amongst many of noble standing.

 

Yet he was no Fëanáro. Maitimo found himself confessing many of his doubts to his uncle, seeking counsel. And yet what Nolofinwë shared with him, Maitimo already knew. Maitimo just needed confirmation, an assurance that his thoughts on the matter of his father were not far fetched. Speak honestly with his father, Nolofinwë reminded Maitimo. Fëanáro does not appreciate double talk. Only directness. Nolofinwë reassured Maitimo that though Fëanáro desired Maitimo to follow in his footsteps he would less respect a son who did so only because a father wished it.

 

Wine was abundant and Anairë found herself allowing Findírë greater autonomy, not curtailing Findírë from a glass of wine. Findírë was emerging from her incident more confident, her voice more assured. Indeed she had come of age. Anairë observed her daughter interact with Maitimo and Nolofinwë. She was curious, opinionated, not afraid to ask questions when she was ignorant of the subject matter. Anairë sighed. Here was another Lalwen, destined to be a representative of the people. It was a challenging path, but Anairë saw it for her bold daughter. She made her mind up then, if Findírë wished it, she could apprentice with Lalwen at Court. She could not keep her safe, but she could give her daughter voice. Keeping her in seclusion, awaiting marriage, made Findírë more vulnerable, coming to the same conclusion as Nolofinwë.

 

As the evening drew to a close, Maitimo thanked his hosts for a lovely dinner and conversation. As the House of Nolofinwë escorted Maitimo to exit, it occurred to Maitimo that he did not want to take leave of Findírë, not yet. Hoping that he had won some trust from Nolofinwë and Anairë, he prepared himself for a bold pursuit.

 

“May I walk Findírë through your gardens?” Maitimo spoke, the words tumbling out.

 

Findírë jumped at the opportunity, “Oh do please allow it ama and atto. I have not taken the air outside and it would do me well.” Findírë watched her parents expectantly. As Findekáno she wouldn’t of needed permission. This was certainly different.

 

Nolofinwë had not seen the earlier interactions between Maitimo and Findírë so he would not deny such a request, but Anairë had witnessed it. Yet she could not well be the one to say no, as she had not witnessed something entirely inappropriate. She found the three of them, Nolofinwë, Findírë, and Maitimo looking at her expectantly. She imagined if Turukáno had been awake he too would have been looking at her with such eyes. Silently she wished Turukáno had not gone to sleep for she could have made little Turukáno join them.

 

“Of course Maitimo,” Anairë replied, feeling her neck tense.

 

Nolofinwë took Anairë by the arm, feeling the headiness of the silver night, “Do not linger too long,” Nolofinwë added, now looking expectantly at Anairë for different reasons, causing his wife to blush.

 

“Oh you two,” Findírë rolled her eyes, “off with you and do not embarrass me!” 

 

Nolofinwë winked at Maitimo as he whisked Anairë off to their chambers. Maitimo laughed, the uncle and father were more alike than they liked to admit.

 

Before Anairë disappeared from Findírë’s view, she turned to look at her daughter whose face reflected giddy anticipation. She had to trust Findírë.

 

Findírë turned to Maitimo, looking up at him through her lashes, extending her arm.

 

Maitimo took the offered arm and grabbed his cloak that hung in a hall off the entry room. The two were soon outside making their way to the gardens that overlooked parts of Tirion below. They stood gazing at the city that spread out below them, imagining this is what stars must look like only above in the sky.

 

Maitimo draped his cloak across Findírë’s shoulders, taking the opportunity to draw her closer to him. “Are you chilled,” he spoke breaking the charged silence.

 

“Yes,” Findírë lied, moving closer to Maitimo.

 

Somewhat hesitantly, Maitimo wrapped an arm around Findírë’s waste. She did not move away so he grew bolder, bringing her closer to him. She moved easily, gracefully, and soon the entirety of her was next to him. He could feel the curve of her breast and hips on his side.

 

Tentatively she wrapped an arm around him, looking up into his face. “I like this,” she offered, simple and honest words.

 

“As do I,” Maitimo replied looking down into her eyes. He was loosing himself in their depths. “So familiar,” he whispered.

 

She inclined her head to the side, unsure what Maitimo meant.

 

Maitimo opened his mouth to speak, but found he did not want to say the wrong thing, say words that would distance her from him. Choosing his words carefully, he clarified, “It is as if I have known you the long years of my life, Findírë.”

 

Findírë did not reply. She looked up at the sky and the silver net of light cast by Telperion. Was she going to wake up and find it was only dream? Would Maitimo vanish if she turned to look at him, hoping to see desire reflected back in his eyes?

 

Maitimo continued, figuring he had nothing to loose now. “This,” he squeezed Findírë, “It feels right.”

 

“It certainly does,” Findírë answered affirmatively, her voice teasing Maitimo, as she held on to him tighter, thankful for the feel of his body against her. He rewarded her with a crooked smile.

 

“I am glad you wrote me. I looked forward to each and every letter,” Maitimo continued his confession.

 

“And I yours,” Findírë revealed.

 

Maitimo shuddered as Findírë lay her head on his shoulder. Dear Eru he thought, I have not felt such anticipation, eagerness with any soul. Maitimo turned and pulled Findírë up against him so they were facing each other. She caught her breath. He could feel her heart beat, the warmth of her body. With one hand he grabbed the back of her neck and pulled her up towards him to claim Findírë in a kiss and with the other he pulled her as close to him as possible without crushing her.

 

Findírë felt his soft lips against hers. Findekáno had kissed maidens before but Findírë had not kissed a soul, so she let him take over, let Maitimo lead her. A part of her could not believe that this was happening! Oh what joy, what release! All she had ever desired in her short life was coming to be. Maitimo opened her lips with his, using his tongue to explore her mouth. Findírë made a sound that caused Maitimo’s kisses to become more eager. His kisses became deeper, intimate, like the dance of sex, opening and closing, their mouths finding the rhythm that anticipated other acts of love.

 

“Findírë,” a male voice called out from above.

 

The two lovers hastily broke apart, looking around to see if they’d been caught. Though they did not allow their relations to act as a barrier, others might.

 

“It is time to retire,” the voice called out. It was Nolofinwë.

 

Findírë called out, “I am coming father.”

 

Maitimo did not make a sound. He did not want to incur the wrath of Nolofinwë, not again.

 

Findírë urged Maitimo to follow her on the path that wound its way along the steep hillside towards the courtyard. “Do not worry,” she finally spoke, “he could not see us. The trees provided cover.”

 

Maitimo breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you my friends,” he laughed as he patted the bark of the trees as he passed them by on their narrow path. Finally the two emerged from the densely wooded hillside out into the courtyard.

 

Alcarcalimo, Nolofinwë’s attendant was waiting on the pathway to escort Maitimo out to the front gate. Maitimo let out a disappointed sigh. He would not be able to steal a kiss from Findírë.

 

Alcarcalimo bowed his head. “My lord and lady wished for me to offer you their gratitude for a pleasant evening. Please allow me the courtesy to see you to the gate.”

 

Maitimo inclined his head, acknowledging Alcarcalimo. His cloak now secure around him, Maitimo turned to Findírë and graced her with a kiss on the cheek. He lingered. He did not intend to but he could not help it. Findírë felt herself leaning into Maitimo, to feel him against her. Maitimo was like a magnet, she felt pulled to him in a way she could not control.

 

Alcarcalimo cleared his throat behind them. Maitimo managed to pull himself away, running his hand through his hair, gifting her his characteristic crooked smile. “I will call on you tomorrow,” he offered, earning him an equally brilliant smile from Findírë.

 

“I look forward to it, Maitimo.” 

 

Maitimo turned and followed Alcarcalimo, pausing, as Alcarcalimo hurried him along, to look back and catch a glimpse of Findírë who stood like a vision from beyond, his faerie maiden caught by the silver light of Telperion.

 

Maitimo’s horse was waiting at the gate as was his riding gear. Quickly making himself ready, Maitimo leapt on his horse and took one final glance in Findírë’s direction. She raised her hand, bidding him good night. Maitimo could not repress the silly grin that spread across his face. His horse danced beneath him, wanting to stretch his legs. Finally, Maitimo turned and released his horse, the steed galloping off in the direction of Fëanáro’s.

 

Oh what a silver night in Tirion, what a welcome home for Maitimo.

 

And for Findekáno, he traced his curves with his hands, relishing his body, feeling the pieces of him coming together.

 

“Findírë,” her mother’s voice called out.

 

Findírë turned to her home and saw her mother waiting for her at the large entryway. Findírë made her way along the dirt path that turned into a more formal stone path. Climbing the stone stairs, she approached her mother, listening to Maitimo’s horse clip clap into the distance until the sounds were lost.

 

Anairë was no fool. Findírë was love struck, starry eyed, the blush on her cheeks betraying her emotions. Anairë was not going to have this conversation with Findírë at that moment. She would let her have her youthful dreams for a night, and in the morning Anairë would have to speak with her eldest. She had believed Maitimo would not reciprocate Findírë’s infatuation, thinking Findírë was more interested in make believe than in something tangible. She could not have been more wrong. Never had she seen Maitimo so taken with any one. She would need to speak with Nerdanel at once. The brothers, Nolofinwë and Fëanáro would probably not help in the matter. What was needed was a more subtle approach, one that would not push the two into unwise decisions.

 

Nolofinwë lay in bed, waiting for Anairë to return. This was the last thing Findírë needed after the news of her attack. Atanalacar’s cronies would use evidence of an improper relationship between Maitimo and Findírë to question Findírë’s version of the story with Atanalcar, despite the witness of the attendant. His words could be easily dismissed when measured against the weight of a noble man’s word.  Certainly Maitimo’s and Findírë’s relationship was not against any Law, indeed not even that of the Valar. Their consanguinity was not a detriment to marriage, but Laws were one thing, people’s attitudes were another. Fëanáro had reminded Nolofinwë of this when he tempered Nolofinwë’s rage, keeping him from committing a grave mistake. What was permitted was entirely different than what was accepted. Maitimo and Findírë, if Anairë was right, were treading shaky ground.

 

)()()()(

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> atto-father
> 
> Endórë- middle earth
> 
> * Findekáno as a woman, in my mind sort of resembles Korra. Go figure.


	3. To Fear a Cage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Findekáno - Findírë  
> Curufinwë/Kurvo-Curufin  
> Makalaurë/ Kanafinwë/Káno-Maglor  
> Nelyafinwë /Maitimo/Russandol/Nelyo -Maedhros  
> Turukáno/Turno-Turgon  
> Tyelkormo/ Turkafinwë /Turko-Celegorm
> 
> unbeta'd. Apologies for the mistakes I miss.

Chapter 3: To Fear a Cage

 

Findírë stared dreamily into the distance. She was caught up in those first moments of love, when all you can see, breathe, feel, and hear is the profile of your lover, the rise and fall of their breath as they lean in to kiss you, the sound of their voice, resonating through you. First love, only loves. It was everything and more, but only a beginning in the long, long length of time.

 

“You have not touched your food,” Anairë spoke, trying to break through Findírë’s reverie. Anairë had not the heart to speak with Findírë the morning after Maitimo’s initial visit, nor the day after that. She’d been so happy, her Findírë who had been so moody and dark of late, even before Atanalacar’s attack. Anairë loathed thinking of his name. It was not worth the energy. It had been days and neither Anairë nor Nolofinwë, for that matter, had uttered a word to their daughter.

 

“Findírë…” Anairë spoke louder.

 

“What is it mother,” Findírë answered, a dreamy quality to her voice.

 

“You have not touched your food,” Anairë repeated herself.

 

“I am not hungry _ama_ ,” Findírë replied staring off over the hills of Tirion that plunged down beneath them. Findírë did not want to wake up from this life. How different would it be in her other life. She brought her fingers, in the shape of a scope, up to her eye, to peer through, but decided against it, dropping her hands back onto her lap.

 

Turukáno chimed in, “Can I have your dessert Fin?” addressing his sister by the personal nickname he used for her since he could speak.

 

Findírë nodded her head distractedly pushing the dish over towards Turukáno who did not seem to notice her distracted state. Anairë tut-tutted her disapproval, though she could not deny that Turukáno was always hungry. Extra dessert would do him no harm. He was growing like a weed!

 

The three sat on a veranda perched upon a steep hill that met the Villa. Just below was Findírë and Maitimo’s favorite spot, in the gardens that tumbled down the hill, sheltered by trees from prying eyes above. Maitimo had come every day since, claiming he was checking in on his cousin’s progress, feeling invested in her healing. Anairë snorted, invested in her daughter’s healing, that was certainly true but there was more to it! Anairë sighed, feeling torn. Findírë was glowing, no doubt as a result of Maitimo. Nolofinwë had started to quietly chatter away at Anairë’s ear, reminding her of the shaky political predicament the two were in. Atanalacar was caught up in a lengthy juridical process that included both Noldorin and Valarin hearings. Such a high profile crime demanded precision and care.

 

Anairë ignored her husband, reminding him he too could speak with Findírë. Nolofinwë would back track, arguing that it would come easier from Anairë, after all a mother understands such matters of the heart. Luckily, Turukáno would often accompany Maitimo and Findírë; neither seemed to mind the excitable presence of Findírë’s little brother. Yet to see her so content, so happy, in spite of the horrific attack she endured, neither parent wanted to break her spirit again.

 

Alcarcalimo announced that their expected guests had arrived, interrupting Anairë’s thoughts. Behind him were Nerdanel and her sons, Maitimo, Makalaurë, Tyelkormo, and Curufinwë. Maitimo was visibly annoyed as was Findírë who only expected Maitimo and Nerdanel. Anairë rose to greet the visitors.

 

Makalaurë and Tyelkormo grumbled greetings in Anairë and Findírë’s direction, not even attempting to dissimulate their annoyance at being dragged along to be minders. Kurvo offered a quick wave of his hand in greeting and immediately descended upon the dessert. After Nerdanel and her sons finished eating, Anairë and Nerdanel excused themselves, departing to speak in a more private space, taking Turukáno and Curufinwë with them. The two children of approximate age would sneak off and Kurvo would inspect Turno’s creations. Kurvo had to admit his cousin was a good builder.

 

Makalaurë and Turko followed Maitimo and Findírë as the two tried to escape into the gardens. Makalaurë had observed how Maitimo and Findírë would steal longing looks at one another during the extended meal. The two were trying not to be obvious, but even little Kurvo was aware of Maitimo and Findírë’s yearning for one another, wrinkling his nose in disgust. It was certainly a surprise to the brothers, but Makalaurë knew that Maitimo was in love the way he had been acting at home, though Maitimo refused to let anyone know who the object of his affection was. But that was now obvious. Tyelkormo also noticed the looks between Maitimo and Findírë, but unlike Makalaurë it bothered Turko. Why did he feel jealous? It was down right wrong if you thought about it for a moment, Turko reasoned, Maitimo and Findírë were cousins! Though that had not stopped Turko from thinking about Findírë in certain ways before. His color was rising so he walked ahead of the group, kicking at the ground in front of him.

 

The foursome made their way to Maitimo and Findírë’s favored spot. Maitimo turned to his brothers. “On your way now,” he commanded, making himself taller.

 

Turko spun around to face his brother. “Why, so you can fondle one another?”

 

Maitimo’s mouth was agape, but Maitimo never backed down from his brothers. “What did you say?”

 

“Your heard me!” Turko retorted, taking steps towards his taller brother. “You want us to leave so you can have Findírë to yourself and be unnatural.”

 

Makalaurë burst out laughing next to him, “Oh no Turko I believe what these two are up to,” Makalaurë pointed at Findírë and Maitimo, “is quite natural. Isn’t it cousin?” he added, stretching out the word cousin as he pointedly looked at Findírë.

 

Findírë had enough, “Neither of you will speak of me in such a way.” Findekáno would have launched himself at one of them by now, but Findírë had no such desire.

 

“Or what Findírë,” Turko spit out, “you will knock me on the ground, wrestle with me?”

 

“Turko!” Findírë shouted, rethinking her desire to punch Turko in the face, but Maitimo cut her thoughts short.

 

“Enough Turko. This does not concern you,” Maitimo growled, taking a few steps in his brother’s direction

 

Turko flipped his hair out of his face, tying the loose ends back into the messy bun his golden hair was spilling out of. He soundlessly mimicked Maitimo, a thing he was prone to do, mocking his older brother. Turko was a beautiful young elf, like Findekáno, coming into his own, beginning to fill out his tall shape, but Turko--according to Maitimo--was the most insufferable elf. Turko turned his back on the group, unwilling to let Maitimo see him more upset.

 

“We will leave but not after I have a few words with the both of you,” Makalaurë interjected, a more serious tone to his voice. He sat on the ground and patted the space next to him indicating he wanted Maitimo and Findírë to sit next to him. Maitimo grumbled, taking Findírë’s hand as he led her to sit next to Makalaurë. Turko turned to watch the two, observing how his brother interacted with Findírë. Maitimo was protective of Findírë and she allowed it.

 

Makalaurë noticed that Maitimo did not release Findírë’s hand as they sat, instead holding it more possessively. He had never seen Maitimo behave in such a manner. It brought a smile to his face. Makalaurë turned his bright face towards the two, happy that they seemed to have found love in one another, for it was clear for anyone to see that is what was between the two, Maitimo and Findírë. But Makalaurë was not going to congratulate them. “Both of you realize that what is between the two of you is not forbidden yet it will never be accepted.”

 

Maitimo let out a deep sigh. What Makalaurë pointed out was true. Turning to Findírë, he answered his brother, “It does not matter. I will not turn back.”

 

Findírë gifted him with a brilliant smile, though she was crumbling inside. Here too her love for Maitimo seemed to be impossible, barriers erected. Maitimo could see her smile was forced and not caring that his brothers were present, leaned over to kiss his love. Findírë captured his kiss with equal emotion, both overcome with the tenuous nature of their relationship. _Maitimo_ , Findekáno cried out, from within Findírë. _No matter where I am, no matter_ , Findekáno’s voice reverberated within Findírë, _I will always love you_. 

 

Turko turned away in disgust, yet he had never seen Maitimo so moved by anyone, and Findírë, well Turko had begun to believe she was not interested in men so little attention she paid to them--at least in a romantic manner. Hesitantly Turko turned back to look at Findírë and Maitimo. He was jealous, jealous because he wanted Findírë to himself. She was a perfect match, not some unknown elf that came from outside of the family, someone that would ruin their perfect balance, the camaraderie that was perfectly struck amongst them. Turko hated the company of elves not his family. If he could not be with them he would be out hunting, exploring the wilder lands on his own. Findírë was a means to an end, but not for Maitimo. He saw the look on his brother’s face as he broke apart from their kiss and captured her face in his hands, looking upon her, studying every detail of her face. No, Findírë was much more for Maitimo. She completed him. Turko sighed, throwing a rock at a squirrel that had been spying. He did not aim directly at it but wanted it gone. Turko did not want another witness to his misery.

 

Makalaurë knew his brother, understood his despondency. Cautiously, not wanting to flare Turko’s temper, Makalaurë placed a hand on his shoulder. Turko looked up at his older brother’s face. Wise beyond his years. Makalaurë was the one who most resembled Finwë, it was said in temperament as well. Makalaurë was a sensitive soul, it was why he was the most brilliant of musicians. It was a heavy price to pay, Turko thought to himself, to have such a gift. Nevertheless Turko knew not to cross Makalaurë. Makalaurë, when crossed, could be the most wrathful, single-minded of elves he knew, taking down even Maitimo. Turko had seen it one time, when Maitimo had so enraged Makalaurë that the latter tackled Maitimo and did not release him even though he was hurting his eldest brother. No. Makalaurë was not an elf to be crossed. People often only saw the musician though Makalaurë was as tall and strong as their father. Turko’s thoughts were interrupted by Findírë’s laughter. He tried to be understanding, but the urge to strangle Maitimo remained.

 

Maitimo pulled Findírë closer to him, nuzzling her behind the ear. Findírë giggled, arching her back at the chills that ran up and down her back.

 

“Maitimo,” Findírë laughed, dropping her voice to a whisper, “your brothers.”

 

“It matters not. If they choose to impose on our time then they shall have to put up with us.” Maitimo glanced at his brothers, his look daring them to challenge him.

 

Turko raised his hands, quelling his eldest brother, “So be it. I will be exploring down the hill if anyone needs me, though I doubt I will be missed.” Turko quickly disappeared into the densely wooded hillside.

 

Makalaurë inclined his head in Findírë’s direction. “One more question,” Makalaurë insisted. “If it all works out, this thing between the two of you. What then? What do you want for yourself Findírë?” A question her father had asked of her before, but coming from Makalaurë, she understood the question was more poignant.

 

Findírë was a bit flustered by Makalaurë’s question. The question roused Maitimo’s curiosity as well. Would she reveal more of her heart than she had with him and Nolofinwë? Findírë sat silently for a moment, gathering her thoughts. “I want to follow in Aunt Lalwen’s footsteps, to do has she has done,” she repeated her well-rehearsed answer. Findírë hesitated, not sure how either of the brothers would react to her more honest words. Looking first at Maitimo and then Makalaurë, Findírë was reminded of hers and Makalaurë’s friendship, of the honest words she had written to Maitimo and his encouragement of her. She mustered her courage to continue. “In a few weeks time I will be introduced as formally come of age. What does this purpose for me?” she asked, more for herself than the two elves who listened to her. “For most they will look upon me as the daughter of a Prince, as a means to end, marriageable. Certainly I may find love in such an arrangement, but what of my desires outside that marriage? ‘Shall I always be chosen merely as ornament? Shall I always be left behind when you both depart to do the work for our people? Will I be left behind to mind the house while you win renown whether by your art or politics, and find food and beds when you return?”**

 

Maitimo opened his mouth to speak, but found himself at a loss for words. He wanted Findírë his, his alone, and yet he knew as a scion of Finwë she was not for him alone. None of them were.

 

“Tell me your thoughts,” Findírë urged, holding a hand up to gently touch Maitimo’s cheek, knowing him as if she had spent the Ages with him.

 

Maitimo understood Findírë’s desires, but he also understood that, like Lalwen, Findírë’s path would encounter the narrow strictures of what was allowed to her. “A time may soon come when none of us can turn back from the calling of our fathers,” Maitimo began, reminding all of them of the duties expected of them for better or not. Turning to Findírë, he continued, his eyes searching her eyes for understanding, “But for you, my lady, there will be need of valour without renown, for none shall remember the deeds that are done in the silences of spaces, behind the doors that are closed to you. Yet the deeds will not be less valiant because they are unpraised. But I, my lady, I will know them and I will have the privilege of knowing you.”** Maitimo’s eyes reflected the grey seas, full of fury, the depths unknowable, deep and dark, infallible. His love for Findírë such a tempest.

 

Makalaurë spoke up, ever the pragmatist, “What of those that agree that your duty is with your people, yet understand that duty to be one of a lady and her house?”** Makalaurë and Findírë had spent countless hours discussing just such a story, Makalaurë wary that his cousin would find much disappointment on her intended path, a path that now seemed stormier.

 

Findírë replied, knowing Makalaurë’s concerns were not dismissive, but born of fealty and love. “Too often have I heard of duty,” Findírë responded. “But am I not of the House of Nolofinwë, a Princess and not a dry-nurse? I have waited on faltering feet long enough. Since they falter no longer, it seems, may I not now spend my life as I will?” Here too was Findekáno speaking, for whatever life he lived, it seemed his life was circumscribed.**

 

Maitimo asked Findírë. “What do you fear, lady?”**

 

“A cage,” Findírë answered, her profile a reflection of the old goddesses, the goddesses of Awakening whose idols were broken or hidden in this new perfected world. “To stay behind bars,” she continued, “until use and the passing of years accept them, and all chance of doing great deeds is gone beyond recalls or desire.”** Findírë answered, her voice breaking with emotion thinking of the elder stories, of the elf maidens that carried their people through darkness and evil on the other side.  

 

Maitimo’s eyes shone in admiration for Findírë. “And I will follow you lady, whither thou goest, I will follow,” he breathed using the more formal courtly language to express his reverence. Maitimo always admired Findírë’s courage. He remembered her as a wiry child in his parent’s home, refusing to be excluded from their games. She’d received much grief for rough housing with her cousins from those that thought she should be spending time weaving, learning the domestic arts, to be a good wife. But that did not suit Findírë. She was made of that, which stories named valor, the very essence of it. He would follow, whatever path, he would return to her if lost.

 

Makalaurë knelt on the ground before Findírë, pulling Maitimo down with him. Makalaurë and Maitimo knelt before Findírë in the way reserved for the High King.

 

“Now I was being serious!” Findírë protested.

 

Under the dark hair that cascaded onto the ground, Makalaurë responded, “And so am I, so are we, for I too shall follow when the time comes, for it will come,” Makalaurë spoke in that prescient way of his.

 

Maitimo perceived that certain intonation in Makalaurë’s voice, knowing he was speaking far into time, the truth of a thing to come, the words like mist, mysterious and magical. “As am I,” Maitimo spoke, raising his head to look up at Findírë. There was a pleading look in his eyes,  if that is what you could call it, a look that said, do not leave me alone in this vulnerability.

 

Findírë pulled Makalaurë up into an embrace. “My gratitude for you my cousin. Your grace is ever a place of love and shelter for me, and for this you have my love. I hope you can seek the same in me.” Makalaurë placed a chaste kiss upon his cousin’s lips, pushing her over to Maitimo who was watching them from the corner of his eye, a hint of jealousy shining through.

 

Findírë fell to her knees in front of Maitimo and pulled his face closer to hers. “Whither thou goest, I will follow. I will follow into the darkest of places for you.” Regardless of names, this was a path set out to Findírë, Findekáno, to follow Maitimo into the depths of darkness.

 

Maitimo swept Findírë up in his arms, catching her in a reckless kiss, a kiss that desperately wanted to will away what their words heralded. Finally breaking apart to catch their breath,  Maitimo turned and glared at Makalaurë. Findírë laughed, the relationship between brothers was always entertaining, their ability to find lightness where before there was gravity an indication of their closeness and love for one another.

 

Makalaurë made an obscene gesture at his brother, while he focused his attention on Findírë to speak, “Where is your harp? I can tune it for you if you like.”

 

Findírë nodded her head eagerly. She’d been pestering Makalaurë to fix the darn thing for her. “It is in the music room.” She enjoyed playing it, learning what Makalaurë was willing to teacher her, yet she would never be as talented as her cousin.

 

Makalaurë stood, shaking off the grass that clung to his leggings. Without a word he walked back towards the home. Turko who had disappeared in the hills below was not to be heard.

 

“At last!” Maitimo announced, turning his attention to her. “I have never spoken truer words Findírë,” Maitimo confessed, holding her hand to his heart as if to impress upon her the truth of his words.

 

“I know this,” she whispered. “But if you do not make haste to ravage me, we will have lost these few precious moments alone,” she teased Maitimo.

 

“My lady commands” Maitimo replied, grabbing Findírë and rolling on top of her. “I have you all to myself to do what I want.”

 

“And what, my lord, do you want to do with me?” Findírë whispered, trailing lingering kisses along Maitimo’s neck. Findekáno was finding that he enjoyed surrendering to Maitimo. This was something that he had wondered about in his previous life, but would Maitimo enjoy submitting to him?

 

Maitimo reached his hand up her skirt. He hesitated, breaking away from Findírë. Maitimo searched her with his eyes that revealed passion and tentativeness.

 

“I will let you know if I feel threatened” Findírë spoke, knowing why Maitimo was hesitant. Maitimo was sensitive, caring, thoughtful. He’d always been so, but his eyes also shone with something different, an unbridled fire: a deep desire that he was waging a battle with, trying not to overwhelm Findírë with his hunger for her.   

 

“I need this,” Findírë spoke her voice deeper with desire. “I need to own my passion,” she asserted,  wondering when Maitimo would stop hesitating, afraid he was breaking an unspeakable barrier, when it came to their love.

 

)()()()(

 

Nerdanel was pacing the length of Anairë’s sitting room, pausing to look out at the garden below.

 

“You cannot see them from here,” Anairë stated, guessing Nerdanel’s intent. “They know exactly where to go so we cannot spy on them,” Anairë filled her in.

 

“Of course they would,” Nerdanel replied. Anairë and Nerdanel had sent each other written correspondence over the days that proceeded the beginning of Maitimo and Findírë’s courtship. In fact, Anairë had immediately sent a note to Nerdanel, sharing what she witnessed that evening Maitimo had first come over for dinner. Anairë and Nerdanel were close, despite what appeared to outsiders as a distant relationship. Nerdanel had no sisters, no daughters, and greatly appreciated the friendship of Anairë and Eärwen who were truly, as the old saying went, thick as thieves.

 

Nerdanel knew something had changed the moment Maitimo entered their home following the first dinner with Nolofinwë. He had a distant look about him and was not listening to a word Fëanáro was speaking to him…

 

_Days earlier_

 

“Maitimo,” Fëanáro waved his hand in front of his eldest face.

 

“Father!” Maitimo replied, as if he were surprised Fëanáro was standing in front of him.

 

Fëanáro observed the grin that would take over Maitimo’s face, the way he touched his lips with his hand as if treasuring a kiss, walking to the window to stare out, loosing himself in his thoughts.

 

“How was dinner?” Fëanáro asked Maitimo.

 

“It went well father,” Maitimo replied, and after a dramatic pause, sighed, “It was more than well. I had a wonderful time with Nolofinwë and his family.”

 

Fëanáro raised a single eyebrow at his son’s response. Nerdanel watched from a distance, knowing that what she saw in her son was something she had wished for him. He was in the throws of love.

 

Fëanáro circled Maitimo, coming to stand next to his eldest. The fire in the large hearth made Maitimo glow, his hair alight like the fire itself. Fëanáro placed his hand on his son’s cheek, feeling the warmth. Fëanáro turned Maitimo’s face towards him, though Maitimo hesitated. “Are you sure you went to visit Nolofinwë?” Fëanáro asked noting the blush that refused to temper itself.

 

Maitimo shook Fëanáro’s hand from him, turning away to peer out into the silver night. “Of course atto. Why would I lie?”

 

Fëanáro walked away from his son, shaking his head. Maitimo was certainly telling the truth, but there was more to it. Fëanáro looked at Nerdanel and shrugged his shoulders. Nerdanel nodded her head, turning away to go ready herself for bed. Nerdanel would find out what was going on with Maitimo. Maitimo always responded better to her subtler ways.

 

The following day when Maitimo quietly announced to his parents that he was going to pay a visit to Nolofinwë, Fëanáro’s eyebrows rose in surprise. He and Nerdanel said naught. Then a messenger came for Nerdanel. Nerdanel made no mention of the contents to Fëanáro and Fëanáro did not ask. He did not think it was in relation to Maitimo. Nerdanel inconspicuously dropped the note into the fire, making sure it incinerated. This was unexpected, she thought to herself, and yet, not so unexpected, though she would have been less surprised if the words concerned Turko. Yet Findírë never had reciprocated Turko’s awkward advances. Now that she thought about it, Findírë always asked after Maitimo. The two had quite the letter writing relationship. No one had thought anything of it. Yet there it was, this thing between the two, Maitimo and Findírë.

 

The day after Maitimo found another excuse to return to Nolofinwë’s. The day after that, Maitimo simply disappeared from the household without a word. That is when Fëanáro came home in a huff. Nolofinwë had sought Fëanáro out at court. Nolofinwë’s had just  returned to court after taking time to be with Findírë and keep distance from Atanalacar’s group. Nolofinwë spoke with Fëanáro of Findírë and Maitimo’s growing relationship, of how he and Anairë thwarted Maitimo by sending Turukáno to accompany them.

 

“Did you know?” Fëanáro demanded, guessing that Anairë had sent word to Nerdanel.

 

“I had an idea,” Nerdanel replied smoothly, not intimidated by her husband’s mercurial personality.

 

“And why did you say nothing to me?” Fëanáro demanded, shoving a chair across the room. While expressions of love and tenderness were difficult for Fëanáro, his anger was another matter entirely.

 

Nerdanel shook her head. “The chair does not deserve your anger. I said nothing because I wanted to be sure before I told you for certain seeing how you react.” Nerdanel stood with her hands on her hips glaring her husband down.

 

“This cannot be Nerdanel! It cannot be! It is my brother’s daughter, my niece!”

 

“Half-brother,” Nerdanel reminded him, for once on the opposite side of this argument.

 

Fëanáro looked at her in disbelief. “You always reproach me for referring to Nolofinwë as my half-brother and now you are reminding me of it?”

 

“Their relationship is not prohibited,” Nerdanel responded, getting to the heart of the matter.

 

“No it is not!” Fëanáro cried out, “But it will certainly not be accepted. Damn it Nerdanel!” Fëanáro continued, his voice growing louder, “do you not see that those elves that support Atanalacar will use this as proof that Findírë is not who she claims to be? Such a thing, between my son and Nolofinwë’s eldest will give them a political foothold. Findírë will suffer for it.” Fëanáro walked towards his wife, his hands covering his face, and more quietly he whispered, “so will Maitimo. You well know how this relationship might be seen as a threat to some.”

 

Nerdanel did not move from where she stood. Her green eyes were fixed on Fëanáro, betraying not the turmoil so vividly wrenching Fëanáro. “I know this,” she offered after a moments pause. “Though Fëanáro,” Nerdanel continued, a steel edge to her voice, “neither you nor Nolofinwë will act to impede their relationship.”

 

“What?” Fëanáro spun around to face his wife.

 

“If you do,” Nerdanel interrupted what was likely to be another verbal tirade, “you will drive them to do something more desperate. We do not want that.” She let that sink in her husband’s head.

 

Fëanáro turned to glance out the same window Maitimo would stand by in the silvery evenings, trying to understand his eldest. “No we do not,” he admitted feeling defeated.

 

“I know what you are thinking,” Nerdanel continued, “that there was no way we could have anticipated this event unfolding, that there was no way to predict this.”

 

Fëanáro walked back in the direction of his wife, gently pushing a chair aside with his foot. Nerdanel was not finished so he waited to hear her out.

 

“Fëanáro, it was there before us. Findírë has ever looked up to Maitimo and Maitimo has ever been fond of his cousin, though of late those feelings became something more. It was, it is inevitable.”

 

Fëanáro had to begrudgingly agree with his wife. It _had_ been there. Maitimo asking after his cousin when Fëanáro visited him, asking him to deliver letters to Findírë. What better way to fall in love than through letters? Both were sensitive souls, drawn to poetry and lore. Both were unhappy to accept what was expected of them, a rebellious streak to them. It was the oldest tale told, elves that fell in love through words, through whispers exchanged by friends, secreted away in letters, hidden in lover’s prose. Nevertheless, Fëanáro did not believe such a relationship was well advised. “What shall we do?” Fëanáro went over to his wife to lean on her, in more ways than one.

 

“I am accompanying Maitimo to Nolofinwë’s tomorrow. Seeing that he makes his way there every day, Anairë and I are meeting to discuss, to think, and consider a course of action. Maitimo and Findírë must be convinced of whatever we believe is the best path. If they are not, then there is not much we can do.”

 

)()()()(

 

Anairë’s sitting room was also her studio, awash in light. The gauzy curtains gently billowed in the afternoon breeze, as if trying to blunt the harshness of the business Anairë and Nerdanel were discussing.

 

“And Varda herself interviewed Findírë, saw the bruising. All the Valar need to do is read her thoughts to see what the truth of the matter is,” Anairë spoke, trying to find reasons not to worry over Atanalacar’s band finding out about Findírë and Maitimo.

 

“But if that occurs, then Findírë’s relationship with Maitimo will also be open to the Valar, so closely are the two events woven,” Nerdanel reminded Anairë.

 

“It is not against any Law,” Anairë retorted, not angry with Nerdanel but with the circumstances.

 

“You and I both know this, but they,” Nerdanel spoke, referring to some of the Valar, “will not look favorably upon their relationship. It consolidates Noldorin power, consolidates the power of the House of Finwë for the conceivable time we are bound to these lands,” Nerdanel revealed, remembering Fëanáro’s fears. “You know that there are those who would like to see Finwë and his House dethroned.”***

 

Anairë turned to look at Nerdanel, studying Nerdanel’s fidgeting hands, a sculptor’s hands moving with their own voice, as she confessed the depths of the challenges they faced.

 

“Let them try,” Anairë cried out, a deep seething anger spilling out. “Let them come. If they want tumult we are not afraid of it. I was born on the other side. Those who wish this have grown too confident to think they have the sway of the people, our people.” Anairë emphasized the last words.

 

Nerdanel was dumbstruck by Anairë’s outburst, but an appreciative grin appeared, her ruddy complexion glowing, approving of Anairë’s temper. “I do like to see you so rebellious Anairë, and I agree, let them come. But what of Maitimo and Findírë?” Nerdanel gently rebuked Anairë, reminding her that Maitimo and Findírë were the ones who had to agree to whatever was thought the best course of action.

 

Anairë collapsed on a settee, running her hands through her raven hair. Nerdanel was right. “It might destroy Findírë. She pretends the attack is no longer an issue. I was with her as she had to relearn who she was. Oh Nerdanel have Nolofinwë and I been fools allowing Maitimo to visit Findírë, to see her happy? How well does she know herself? She is just emerging out of a horrific trauma!”

 

“But you do know your daughter do you not Anairë?” Nerdanel queried, “deep down, you know how she feels, how Findírë truly feels for my son.”

 

“I do,” Anairë sighed, feeling overwhelmed by her daughter’s predicament. “She loves him Nerdanel, loves him in a way I did not think someone so young could love. It is as if she has loved him since there was thought. I do not know how I else to explain it.”

 

“You forget who you are speaking to.” Nerdanel offered a smile. “I ran off with Fëanáro, or do you not remember that scandal?”

 

Anairë, laughed, “Oh yes, I remember,  but what do you see between the two, with Maitimo?”  

 

“Two infatuated elves,” Nerdanel laughed, though the path of her thoughts made her serious again. “Maitimo loves her, Anairë. And it scares me to consider how deeply he loves her, it’s all been so quick, so quite unexpected.” Nerdanel looked at Anairë, seeing the same concern mirrored in Anairë’s eyes.

 

“It would not be easy to tear the two apart. It might kill them if they could not be together.” Anairë’s eyes revealed the frustration and fear she felt for her daughter. “I am afraid for my daughter. She has endured so much of late. I want to protect her.” But Anairë knew she could not keep Findírë locked away in a bower. Her spirited daughter would surely fade, loose her light under such restraint.

 

“We must speak to them,” Nerdanel broke the heavy silence that descended on the room. “They must at least know how their choices will change the path of all. Surely they have not yet considered this.”

 

)()()()(

 

Nerdanel and Anairë spoke loudly as they made their way down the windy path towards the hillside gardens, not knowing whether Maitimo and Findírë were alone or if Turko was with them. As they made their way through the house they heard Makalaurë tuning Findírë’s harp. He was sitting alone in the room, wrapped up in his work, so the two left him to his ministrations. They carried baskets filled with both Maitimo’s and Findírë’s favorite treats, hopeful that such a treasure would put the two at ease.

 

The leaves of the trees rustled with the breeze that stirred quite the symphony, making it challenging to hear beyond the leafy music. Anairë decided it was better to be direct than come upon the two indisposed. “Findírë? Maitimo?” she called out. No reply. Nerdanel added her voice. “Turko?” she called out, hopeful that maybe he would hear her. Again, no reply.

 

As they came out into an opening, they spotted the two elves they were looking for, lost in a compromising display of affection.

 

“Maitimo!” both maidens yelled out, the eldest son earning the ire of both, for in their minds, as the eldest, he should know better. Findírë was after all still quite impressionable, a young thing.

 

Maitimo rolled off of Findírë and into the bushes below him. He was so surprised that he threw himself off with such force that it propelled him a bit down the steep hill, provoking some loud grunts as he rolled down. Findírë quickly sat up, her back towards the elder elves, ripping her skirt down, and making sure she was appropriately tucked in where earlier she had been out of sorts. “A moment,” Findírë declared, her voice loud and firm, daring to earn the ire of her mother.

 

Anairë gawked at her daughter. Did she just ask for a moment? Nerdanel shook Anairë, pulling her to stand with her back to Anairë and her son who had rolled down the hill. Nerdanel had to suppress laughter, the thought of her charming and graceful son, tumbling down, was amusing.

 

“Very well,” Nerdanel replied, hushing Anairë with a stern look. “Are you well Maitimo?” She turned an amused glance at Anairë who was too finding the situation amusing as well as infuriating.

 

“I, I am well,” Maitimo stuttered as he stumbled awkwardly up the hill. He tried as best to dissimulate his arousal, making sure everything was sorted out as best as possible. Though for his hair he could do nothing. He rolled into a dried bramble bush and his hair was full of the dried leaves and stems. Findírë repressed a giggle as Maitimo emerged, trying to smooth his wrinkled tunic and brush out his hair. He was failing to look presentable. Findírë shook her head and shrugged her shoulders, standing and offering her arm to Maitimo. Her smile spoke volumes. They would face this together. There was no hiding it now.

 

Maitimo took Findírë’s arm, looping it around him as he came to stand behind her, wrapping his arms around her defiantly.

 

Findírë spoke, “I assume you intended to find us?”

 

Anairë and Nerdanel both turned. Anairë was surprised to find her daughter staring defiantly back at her and Nerdanel, but more surprised to find Maitimo so openly and intimately holding her daughter. Nerdanel was likewise surprised. Maitimo was usually deferent to his parents.

 

Findírë spoke once more. “It should come as no surprise to either of you that Maitimo and I are courting one another. You know us well enough to see that which lays between Maitimo and I. And this is why you seek us out.” Findírë was growing in boldness, standing straight, tightly holding Maitimo’s arms that were wrapped against him, her body pressed firmly into his, announcing, this is my choice and I am proud in it. You cannot take this from me.

 

Anairë made to speak, but she was quite at a loss for words. Findírë, it seemed, had transformed overnight from the soft spoken elf who sought out solitude and the company of her cousins to a prideful maiden, sure of her voice.

 

Nerdanel spoke for the two. “Yes, Findírë, you are correct, we came to seek you out. But we do not come to condemn you two. We come out of mothers’ love, for your well being and happiness is ever a product of our love for thee.” Nerdanel turned her attention to her son, “And I expected more thought, my son, for you well know how this between the two of you can reflect upon Findírë.” Nerdanel paused, appraising Maitimo, watching his features to see whether her words reached him. “Russandol, you must have thought that this relationship would be seen as a threat to some who seek power.”  Nerdanel laid it out. No need for circular talk.

 

Anairë finally found her voice. “Let us sit and speak. We are not here to scold.” Anairë set the basket with food down and laid out a blanket on which she began placing the various foods. Nerdanel retrieved a bottle of wine from her basket, producing four cups. “Where is Turko,” she asked Maitimo as she indicated that Findírë and Maitimo should come sit.

 

Maitimo eyed the food and wine set out. “Oh,” he groaned, he was very hungry he had exerted himself so. Findírë too realized how hungry she was, and little by little the two inched their way to the food, like prey to a trap.

 

Standing next to the blanket, Maitimo broke his silence, “Turko has gone off into the woods below.”

 

“I see,” Nerdanel replied, in her habitually short manner. Having four men in a household demanded such commanding brevity.  

 

“Sit the two of you, we are not going to descend upon you.” Anairë commanded as was her custom.

 

Maitimo and Findírë cautiously lowered themselves to sit on the blanket. Nerdanel and Anairë observed them closely. Maitimo did not release his possessive hold on Findírë, nor Findírë hers. There was a naturalness to them, a rightness. Both mothers knew then that this was indeed what they perceived, a love so deep and intense that tearing the two apart would be disastrous. Their hearts filled with happiness to find their eldest find their hearts, for each found what each mother wished for--an elf that would both complete their child but also allow them to be fully themselves. Yet their happiness was tempered by the reality that lay outside the confines of these safe gardens.

 

Findírë turned her attention to Nerdanel. “You said our relationship would be seen as a threat. I do not understand?”

 

Nerdanel turned to Anairë, who offered her a nod of approval. Turning her attention back to Findírë she began her tale. “There are those who seek to unthrone your grandfather.” Findírë’s eyes were wide. She was surprised, but not shocked. Clearly, she heard the rumors, but how much she knew would now be found out. Nerdanel continued, “They wish the Kingship would pass out of the House of Finwë to other Noble houses. They say it is in keeping with the spirit of Noldorin history.”

 

Findírë turned to Maitimo, “You knew this, didn’t you?”

 

Maitimo shook his head affirmatively, casting his eyes to the blanket. He had not considered this in his hasty passion.

 

Nerdanel continued, “There have been proposals that the Crown should pass to Fëanáro for a time, then Nelyafinwë,” Nerdanel used Maitimo’s father name that was now deeply imbued in meaning.

 

“And what of my father?” Findírë protested, ever cognizant of the fact that, though it had not been an issue, until that moment, her father was overlooked for Nelyo. In her mind the line of the Crown should go from Fëanáro to her father.

 

Nerdanel replied, “Findírë think on it, Russo has not married, has no heirs. It could not pass to the second son, not to Makalaurë.”

 

Anairë took up the well-known political story. “Some proposals put forth do follow such a line of ascension, but it matters not. Under either proposal, the Crown would come to your father--for a time--but it could not pass to you.

 

“So it would pass to Arafinwë,” Findírë sniffed, attentive to the fact that women could not inherit political positions. Findis and Lalwen did not even make a presence in these fools’ machinations. Power did not go through women.

 

Anairë finished the story, “And it would end, some argue, under Arafinwë because Findaráto could not be King because his mother is of the Falmari, daughter of that king.”

 

Maitimo spat out, “Fools and fool’s logic.”

 

“Indeed,” Nerdanel answered her son. “But these Lords believe time is on their side, believe that they can wait out the passing of the Crown through Finwë’s descendants until it comes to them if such plans are allowed to be put in place. There are those amongst the Valar who believe this prudent,” Nerdanel did not hide her displeasure.

 

“Say it is not so!!” Findírë cried out, upset she had been kept in the dark about the extent of the dissension and the involvement of the Valar. This made the matter more serious, not just some lords vying for power.

 

“The point is that under the current scheme, a reunion of Nolofinwë’s house with Fëanáro’s would signal a political move by Finwë and his children.  A challenge if you will to those who are united against King Finwë and his heirs.”

 

Maitimo shook his head in disgust now seeing the full plot laid out before him. “Atanalacar and his group, they are chief conspirators. If they find out about a relationship between us, they will use it to tarnish your word, your reputation Findírë, for that is all they can do. I will not let this happen!” he declared, his body tensing, as he held Findírë closer to him.

 

The blood drained from Findírë’s face. “It does not matter whether people know the truth of Atanalacar’s attack, they will say I provoked him, put myself in harm’s way to muddy his reputation. And Maitimo and I, it will be seen as my father and uncle Fëanáro maneuvering to ensure the Crown stays with us as long as possible, a move signaling our intent.”

 

Anairë now blushed, “And I am with child, Findírë. In a years time you will have a sister.”

 

“Oh ama!” Findírë threw herself at her mother’s outstretched arms. “I am happy, but now this news come in such times!”

 

Nerdanel shook her head, Anairë earlier revealing she was with child. A daughter, a daughter that could be married to a Noble willing to keep power within the house of Finwë. “It is a fool’s story truly, such leaps have been made in darkened minds, that I cannot begin to consider how such a narrative was concocted. But there it is.”

 

“But it is all ridiculous,” Findírë cried out in disbelief. Grandfather’s throne is more than hereditary. It was agreed upon by the Firsts, it was he who first came, father of our clan upon these lands! The mother’s gave him their blessings, anointing him with the sacred waters!” Findírë was outraged. What these elves wanted was in the face of Eru’s will.

 

Anairë spoke, soothing her daughter, “Even if the Crown could pass beyond the house of Finwë, Nolofinwë will not see it done, for those that desire it will swiftly bring ruin upon us. They desire to wield their power over us not as benevolents, but as tyrants.”

 

“Tyrants indeed,” Maitimo sprang up. “Grandfather has at times desired to renounce his kingship, to create a more egalitarian system, but some of the Valar and their followers have ever refused him, desiring instead to wield the power he now holds. It would be ruinous.” Maitimo turned his gaze that was like a fire erupting from the earth cloven, “I will not let these men come between us. I have ever toiled as a loyal son in service of my father and grandfather, my king. I know what foulness lays afoot, but it will be there whether or not my love for Findírë burns. ”

 

Findírë stood next to Maitimo. “I do not care if they sully my name. I too will not be torn from Maitimo.” Her face softened as she caught Maitimo’s face in her hands. “It is too late. My heart is given.”

 

Maitimo pressed his lips into Findírë’s forehead, his body melting into her warmth. “It is no longer my choice nana,” Maitimo whispered, his words meant for his mother. “Hide us if you must, but I will die if I cannot be by her side.”

 

“There is no hiding of this,” Anairë breathed, her heart breaking. “All we ask is that you think on it. Think on all that is upon us. I, we, can ask no more. I will never ask of you to do that which would claim your life in heartache.”

 

“Nor I,” Nerdanel answered, water gathering in her eyes. It was as she expected. They understood the predicament. How could Anairë and Nerdanel ask them to put aside something noble, something sacred, ask them to sacrifice themselves because men hungry with power wanted something for themselves? Atanalacar was chief among them. Nerdanel’s face reflected the terror that came upon her in that moment. Atanalcar’s attack suddenly made sense to her. She turned to look at Anairë who watched Nerdanel’s face drain of color.

 

Anairë shuttered, understanding crushing her heart. Atanalacar had ever watched Findírë as the blush of womanhood blossomed for her fairest daughter. Atanalacar had the favor of Manwë. For Atanalacar, his desire was more single minded, to make Nolofinwë suffer and have Findírë for himself. In Atanalacar’s mind, Nolofinwë was his rival, the one who most vehemently deflected his attacks, made a fool of him for unraveling his plots in Court. Atanalacar’s attack was not a crime of passion. No. Atanalcar was calculating. This attack, he meant something with it. Atanalcar hoped he could use Valarin will to bind Findírë to him, repent for his deeds by offering to right his wrong by taking Findírë’s hand. Manwë would agree. It would be such a noble thing to do, even if it truly did fly in the face of all established customary law, of all Valarin law. Nolofinwë and Fëanáro did not see this. It had all been planned.

 

Yet, for all their planning, all their scheming. They did not foresee Maitimo and Findírë, a love that transcended time, a love meant to be. 

)()()()(

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I use the convention of night and day to mark the light of Laurelin and Telperion. 
> 
> ** Many of you probably recognize many of the words here as the dialogue between Eowyn and Aragorn. I thought it was fitting here. From Chapter II: The Passing of the Grey Company, The Return of the King, Book Five.
> 
> *** Clearly I do not ascribe to the notion that Aman was untroubled, even before the meddling of Melkor. After all Arda was flawed before its making and Melkor first came upon the elves, taking any of them, darkening some of them. This story is set in the year/years before the release of Morgoth. 
> 
> **** So some of the Valar and elves are really nasty here in this AU universe. It makes for good drama methinks.


	4. Coming of age

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> List of Names (Quenya/Sindarin equivalents) 
> 
> Fëanáro-Fëanor  
> Findekáno - Findírë- Fingon  
> Makalaurë/ Káno-Maglor  
> Nelyafinwë /Maitimo/Nelyo -Maedhros  
> Nolofinwë-Fingolfin  
> Turko-Celegorm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> unbeta’d. apologies for the mistakes I miss.

**Chapter 4: Coming of age**

 

“What are they up to?” Fëanáro whispered to Nolofinwë. The latter shrugged his shoulders. The two made quite the pair, peering around the corner of a building, attempting to spy on their spouses. Nolofinwë’s hair was unbraided, his hair tied back with a leather thong. Fëanáro wore his loose, save for the crown that was tied back by a silver cuff. They were both dressed in casual wear, avoiding any indication of official business. If folks were going to gossip about what the sons were up to they would at least give the appearance their creeping about had do with events of a sordid nature.

 

Though there was much that divided the brothers, there was also love between them. It was not an easy relationship, but they set aside their animosity to confront the political intrigue that was sweeping through Tirion. The two brothers found themselves of the same mind concerning their eldest children- that it was ill advised. However the relationship did prove to be a sticking point between them. Nolofinwë held Maitimo principally responsible for crossing a line he should have respected with his daughter. Maitimo was no child, Nolofinwë would argue. Maitimo, after all, was close to the age Nolofinwë was when he married Anairë. Findírë was not come of age when Maitimo started this affair with Findírë, Nolofinwë would argue, insisting it showed poor judgment on Maitimo’s part.

 

Fëanáro, though he reluctantly agreed with his brother, nevertheless found himself falling into their comfortable repertoire, contradicting Nolofinwë. After all, Nolofinwë was just a pup when he married Anairë, Fëanáro would counter, pointing out the only mature one then had been Anairë who was much older than Nolofinwë. Fëanáro reminded Nolofinwë that his courtship of Anairë had been equally ill advised. Nolofinwë would scoff at this line of reasoning, moving to the next predictable argument: Maitimo was too much like Fëanáro. Maitimo was hot headed, acted before thinking, yet even Nolofinwë had to admit Maitimo was much more levelheaded than Fëanáro. That wouldn’t win an argument, thus Nolofinwë would remind Fëanáro that he eloped with Nerdanel when he was but Findírë’s age. The argument was typical fare for the brothers, both putting too much weight in their own narratives. The brothers knew this, but were so accustomed to this tit for tat that their arguments were like a well-worn blanket, secure, comfortable, and familiar. And truly, there was an enjoyment the two received from their squabbling.

 

“That is Mardëalë’s shop is it not?” Fëanáro asked Nolofinwë, knowing his brother knew this type of minute detail, which elf live where, what shop was whose, and so on. Fëanáro had not the patience for such leadership, preferring instead to spend periods away from Tirion with his family, living in and searching the lands beyond.

 

“It was,” Nolofinwë answered. “She passed it on to Almáriel.”

 

Fëanáro turned, sharing a wicked grin with his brother, “I still cannot believe she rejected me.”

 

Nolofinwë smiled, keeping his eyes on the building, “Almáriel rejected all of us. I have never known her to take up for too long with any elf.”

 

“You know what they say about the Haldanurs,” Fëanáro declared, elbowing Nolofinwë.

 

“And what is that?” Nolofinwë asked, playing along with Fëanáro, though he well knew what was said and what Fëanáro intended.

 

Fëanáro grinned ear to ear. “To fuck a Haldanur is to be fucked so completely out of your mind that it takes years to recover your senses.” Fëanáro chuckled to himself, remembering some decadent tale from his youth. “And better still,” he continued, “fucking one angers your pious mother to such great effect!” Fëanáro was trying to get under his brother’s skin.

 

Nolofinwë chuckled, remembering Indis’ initial reaction to her son’s courting of Anairë. Nolofinwë leaned over Fëanáro to keep an eye on the building. Fëanáro crouched beneath him, both hidden behind bushes that provided cover against the stone building.

 

 “Is that why you married Anairë little brother? She was close to becoming one of their order until you came along.”  Fëanáro was relentless.

 

Nolofinwë kneed his brother in the back, causing Fëanáro to fall forward. Fëanáro righted himself, continuing to tease his brother. He could not help himself. “I always thought you a dud like your Vanya mother until you snared Anairë. You proved yourself more my brother then, ” Fëanáro mocked Nolofinwë, flipping his hair into his brother’s face.

 

“Oh for fucks sake Náro,” Nolofinwë retorted, spitting out some of Fëanáro’s hair that caught in his mouth. Though Nolofinwë pretended to be offended, his smile betrayed him. Fëanáro’s ribbing amused him to no end. In fact, it warmed him, this bit of brotherly camaraderie though crude it was.

 

“The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree does it?” Nolofinwë picked up the conversation. “I’ve always thought Nerdanel pretty. Unfair I say, to hear her called plain. There’s nothing plain about Mahtan’s daughter.”

 

Fëanáro stayed silent, curious to hear what his brother’s verbal retaliation. These moments would become some of the warmest memories Fëanáro carried of his brother to his death. Fëanáro was not easy to love and he did not show love easily, yet this, with Nolofinwë, was easy. 

 

Nolofinwë whispered into Fëanáro’s ear, “She is the only elf born to keep pace with your desire. I remember hearing you two fuck at least five times in the span of a night. That Náro is a gift.”

 

Fëanáro howled, though it ended abruptly as both Fëanáro and Nolofinwë’s thoughts jumped to the same conclusions.

 

Nolofinwë was the first to voice them, bringing them full circle in their discussion. “Nelyo is not so inclined is he?” 

 

Fëanáro paused, silently cursing his impetuous son. “What do you think?” Fëanáro answered smugly. “He’s _my_ son.”

 

Nolofinwë was more panicked at the thought, reminding him of his anger at the situation. “If your son tarnishes my Findírë’s innocence, Nelyo will answer to me,” he growled at his brother.

 

Fëanáro was about to contradict Nolofinwë out of custom, but hesitated. He too could only see Findírë in such a light, though both knew it was unfair for Findírë. Ultimately Fëanáro shared Nolofinwë’s concern. “Nolvo,” Fëanáro turned and spoke to his brother. “I have spoken to him, asking him for patience. Truly I have,” he offered earnestly.

 

“I know this,” Nolofinwë answered, but his words were cut off by activity at the building they were spying on.

 

)()()()(

 

“Your husbands are outside,” Almáriel revealed, peering through a drawn curtain.

 

“They are?” Anairë spoke, equally surprised, moving over to stand next to Almáriel. “I do not see them.”

 

Nerdanel moved next to the other two maidens and looked for her husband.

 

“They are not out in the open,” Almáriel offered, indicating their location with her chin, “they are hiding over there.”

 

“What on…” Anairë breathed, shocked to find her husband and marriage brother crouched unceremoniously behind a building.

 

“Well they are not being too careful about hiding,” Nerdanel interjected moving away from the curtain shaking her head at her husband’s antics.

 

“They are spying!” Almáriel answered in disbelief. “They do a poor job of it,” she observed, her eyes wide in amusement.

 

The three moved away from the window lest the two elves find themselves discovered.

 

Nerdanel surmised, “I guess this means I will have to have this conversation with Fëanáro sooner than I anticipated.”

 

“Indeed,” Anairë agreed.

 

The two met with Almáriel, seeking allies against the plans set in place by Atanalacar. They confided in Almáriel, whom they trusted, discussing what they believed were Atanalacar’s motives in attacking Findírë. Almáriel agreed, revealing that Mardëalë had hinted as much. Nerdanel and Anairë were not surprised. Mardëalë the elder Haldanur was one of the few consecrated peoples who made the Journey to Aman, knowing the Tatyar would be in need of one such as Mardëalë. Little of what happened occurred outside Mardëalë’s vision, yet here in the Blessed Lands Mardëalë was not outwardly respected by all as the Valar were. Instead, the Haldanur was seen as a witch, a remnant of that which should have been left behind in the darkness of the Outer Lands. But many of the Noldor remained of the original faith and so the Haldanurs continued their functions in Noldorin society, attending to the things they attended to since Elves first awoke: the birthing of babes, the ritual of first naming ceremonies, curing ills of the soul and body, coming of age, marriage, and though not practiced in Aman, they remembered how to care for the dead. They were the keepers of the natural cycles, struggled to keep the connection between Aman and the Outer Lands porous, knowing if that border was shut, the Noldor, at least those that wished it could never return, and that the elves, all of them, would loose a part of their essence. In this they were not alone, Varda cast her thoughts towards the stars, allowing the worlds to filter into one another. The Valar were not set against them intentionally, but the Valar were beings caught up in a different landscape, forgetting that what might be trivial to them, might evince great change amongst the elves. Thus the Haldanurs were natural allies for Nerdanel and Anairë.

 

Almáriel summarized their talk, “Findírë’s coming of age will be but a few days before _Nuruhuinë._ I will make sure we are prepared. I will send word immediately to Mardëalë. We must make haste in our preparations. It is a lucky fate that _Nuruhuinë_ comes this season.”

 

“I hope it is more than fate,” Anairë  whispered, tracing her hand over jars filled with a variety of dried herbs and other sundry assortments. She had not forgotten her training. Was grateful for it, but at times, missed the sisterhood she left behind when she fell in love with Nolofinwë. It wasn’t that she did not remain a friend, but she was no longer a part of their day-to-day lives, living, eating together, performing the first rites. “We are grateful that you will assist us. We know that much is required to ready for a coming of age in the old way,” Anairë offered apologetically putting her nostalgia aside.

 

“You know this well, sister,” Almáriel answered Anairë who had become like a sister to Almáriel when both were apprenticed to become Haldanurs, keepers of the first laws or what was commonly called the veil. “There is no other way,” Almáriel sighed, the weight of the divisions brewing heavy. “The Valar’s sight grows dimmer and dimmer as _Nuruhuinë_ approaches. They will not see or feel Findírë’s heart,” Almáriel affirmed.

 

This was important because at an elf’s coming of age his fertility was heightened. Findírë’s potency would announce to the Valar she was in love. Not only was it frowned upon for elves to come to the ceremony in love according to Valarin tradition, but in this case Findírë’s heart, if revealed to the Valar, would precipitate a political calamity. Thus Anairë and Nerdanel acted, knowing that the Valar’s powers of perception would be dimmed during _Nuruhuinë_ , protecting Maitimo and Findírë, but they needed the assistance of the Haldanurs to make this happen.

 

The choice to have Findírë’s ceremony harken back to the older traditions was also purposeful. It assured none of the Valar would attend. Nerdanel and Anairë knew quite well they could not keep Maitimo and Findírë apart at the festivities, and while they could hide their love from elves around them, Maitimo and Findírë could not hide it from the Valar if they were present. Nerdanel and Anairë were being cautious. Though the Valar rarely attended coming of age ceremonies, they could not be sure for the Valar had been present at Finwë’s heirs’ ceremonies. Yet Findírë was not an heir. According to Valarin code, the House name was passed through the sons, and this is what mattered in Elvendom, the House Name. Certainly Findírë would receive material wealth as a result of her station, but she could not be a standard bearer for her father’s house, and thus endeavor to create her own House. Instead she would become of the house of her marriage partner.

 

“I am indebted to you Almáriel,” Anairë acknowledged as she and Nerdanel prepared to leave.

 

“Not indebted, my friend,” Almáriel answered, opening the door. “But see they are still there!” Almáriel chuckled.  “ I say you catch them and let me enjoy it,” she implored.

 

“Very well,” Nerdanel replied as the three said their good byes.

 

Nerdanel exited to the street, Anairë close behind her. They could see Fëanáro and Nolofinwë retreat through the corner of their eyes.

 

“Fëanáro!” Nerdanel called out, not giving him an opportunity to escape.

 

Fëanáro froze momentarily. The color drained from his face. He had been discovered! He could feel Nolofinwë quietly retreat behind him.

 

“What are you doing on the floor?” Nerdanel called out in his direction.

 

Fëanáro flinched. Nolofinwë was about to beat a hasty retreat, but was prevented by his spouse’s words-

 

“Nolofinwë, stop hovering over your brother and show yourself.”

 

Properly chastised, and in public no less, the two elves stood, taking more time than needed to straighten their clothes and dust off their trousers. Their chins up, they came round the corner, down the cobblestone street towards their wives.

 

“You were spying!” Nerdanel accused her husband, placing her hand on his chest to stop him from hugging her. Anairë stood behind Nerdanel, her hand on her hip, glaring at Nolofinwë who paused behind Fëanáro.

 

“Not spying,” Fëanáro answered, trying to mollify his wife. “We were simply concerned. Were we not Nolvo?” Fëanáro added turning to look at his brother. He would not bear the brunt of the women’s words alone.

 

“Of course! Of course we were,” Nolofinwë stuttered, Anairë’s eyes boring a hole in him.

 

Anairë flicked her skirt, turning away from Nolofinwë and Fëanáro. “I will speak with you when we are home,” Anairë declared walking away from the group.

 

“Of course we will,” Nolofinwë replied meekly, offering an apologetic shrug of the shoulder to his brother, quickly falling in step behind Anairë.

 

Fëanáro scoffed, about to mutter some colorful words regarding Nolofinwë’s backbone.

 

Nerdanel laughed and began walking in the direction of her home. Fëanáro scowled at his wife, but she did not turn to look back at him. Fëanáro cursed under his breath, running to catch his wife.

 

)()()()(

 

And so it came to pass, quite quickly, that Findírë’s formal coming of age ceremony was announced, yet most were not expecting it to be had until after _Nuruhuinë_. Some whispered that Nolofinwë and Anairë were being too hasty. Did she bond without her father’s approval? This was the more typical sort of gossip that circulated, but others questioned the symbolism of the date, considering political motives. What would they gain some asked?

 

The time of _Nuruhuinë_ was fast approaching, the sparing flowers of the Lonesome trees that dotted Túna blooming, letting all know that the space between worlds would thin this season. Those more versed in the First Laws were also curious about the change in Findírë’s ceremony. Long before, the coming of age ceremonies were held communally during the harvest time, but that tradition fell out of favor, replaced by social calendars and elegant affairs celebrating each elf individually. Nolofinwë’s House, indeed the King, certainly understood the symbolism of holding Findírë’s ceremonies during the harvest time, particularly one that coincided with fickle _Nuruhuinë._

 

Maitimo and Findírë reluctantly agreed to keep their relationship out of the public eye, though this was not difficult to do. They both found themselves with less time to spend with one another. Maitimo’s demands at Court increased ten-fold. He knew this was his father’s doing. Findírë, for her part, discovered her studies occupied more and more of her time. Neither elf forsook their duties, but it was beginning to wear on both of them. In those sacred moments they could steal away time together, Maitimo and Findírë would invent elaborate plans detailing how they would leave their responsibilities behind and spend their time together. This was Maitimo’s favorite game, detailing how and where he would make love to Findírë, in what fashion, and with which devices. Findírë would blush, but she would paint her own images, leaving Maitimo hungrier. They had little time to try out their plans.

 

Atanalacar’s hearings were moving along, though they consumed much of the time at Court. Many of the matters were of the mundane bureaucratic sort, signaling, Maitimo reminded his father that though time was a gift for the Eldar, Atanalacar’s proceedings were dragging on. Fëanáro warily agreed that certain sectors of Noldorin society needed to be curtailed, the paper-pushers, he loved to call them. These men, Maitimo observed, obtained too much pleasure from creating needless channels, needless offices, and needless titles to push paper through. It was how they kept power and kept others from it. Nolofinwë always complained that immortality was the twin to bureaucracy. It was an ongoing struggle for the King to allow certain noble men their power, without it impeding the quick implementation of the rule of law where needed. Finwë did not rule with an iron fist, though at times his sons wished he did, but Finwë knew better. The Noldor did not well wear a King who would impose an iron will. Finwë was crafty, Maitimo reminded himself, understanding politics in a way he had yet to grasp, seeing the long march of it through time.

 

Findírë felt safe once more, walking the streets of Tirion. Atanalacar was sequestered and his complotters driven underground for the time being. This did not mean that Findírë and others were not in a constant state of vigilance. They were, but Findírë also understood she must try as best to live her life. And so the days slipped by quickly and before she knew it her coming of age ceremony was at hand.

 

)()()()(

 

“Makalaurë!” Findírë greeted her cousin. “I am so happy to see you, though I mustn’t spend too much time in the company of men.” Makalaurë was arrived early at the glade where the formal ceremonial introduction would occur to help set up the musician’s area.

 

Makalaurë laughed, “I will not keep you Findírë.” His face grew serious and he looked around the densely wooded area to make sure they were alone. “You must know that Maitimo’s mood is foul! He has been wretched to be around,” Makalaurë whispered.

 

“That must be intolerable for you,” Findírë replied, trying not to laugh too loudly.

 

“Make light of it now Findírë. You will soon enough know what it is like to live with my brother.” Makalaurë paused, adding more thoughtfully, “Maitimo is kind and loving, but he can also be difficult at times, Findírë. His moods do not come often, but when they do come, he has a darkness to him. I do not want you to be taken aback by a Maitimo you might not have known.”

 

Findírë too grew more serious, “Oh but I do remember. I have witnessed one of his fey moods.”

 

Makalaurë cracked a smile. Findírë conjured a fond memory, when Findírë, Turko and Makalaurë conspired to make Maitimo’s life as intolerable as possible because of the latters foulness. “But this will be different Findírë. His anger may be directed at you, and though you know it is misplaced, it will hurt.” Makalaurë grabbed Findírë’s hands in his, attempting to soothe fears she may have, though truly he was soothing himself.

 

“I understand Káno,” Findírë answered. “Maitimo, with time will come to know me, my faults.” Findírë considered that she was young and she had yet to grow into too many bad habits. They would certainly arise, but at the moment she had a more pressing matter to bring to the forefront. “Káno, I will not allow Maitimo, when those moods come, to speak to me as I have heard Fëanáro speak to your mother,” she revealed, considering the irony that neither Fëanáro nor Nerdanel had much time to mature apart from one another. Findírë placed a finger over Makalaurë’s lips, indicating she did not want him to speak, not yet. “I know what you will say to me. That they have an understanding, that Nerdanel is not abused, that she is his equal. That may be the case Káno, but I do not have to care for it.” Findírë hesitated, considering what it would be like to fully know Maitimo. Findekáno had witnessed Maitimo’s moods, more intimately than Findírë, and this bled through to Findírë, a knot of worry growing in the pit of her stomach.

 

Makalaurë spoke, his voice betraying his own struggle with his parents’ relationship, “Maitimo has ever known the interactions between mother and father as a couple. Certainly he’s observed others, but the whole of his life has been in their household.” Makalaurë dropped his head. “There are patterns, ways of interacting that are normal to us. You have seen some of it,” Makalaurë continued, “but only glimpses. I know Maitimo will learn to redirect these moods, but you must be honest with him. He will need much council.” Makalaurë looked up at Findírë. “In such times when your words do not reach him, seek me and I will be his council. I will do this for you.”

 

“Káno,” Findírë sighed, throwing her arms around her cousin.

 

“I better be off, Findírë,” Makalaurë shared, “or I will find myself seduced by your potency on this eve.” Makalaurë unexpectedly kissed Findírë on the lips “It is happening already!” he exclaimed, pulling away from Findírë.

 

Findírë eyed Makalaurë suspiciously. “So it is said of a woman who is undergoing the traditional rites,” but she contemplated whether this was in fact the case or if Makalaurë was not simply just being what was popularly known as Finwëion--overconfident and arrogant, a well-earned reputation.[1]

 

)()()()()(

 

Findírë’s coming of age was a spectacle, a beautiful affair, wrought in the typical political showmanship of the Noldor. The Valar did not participate in these ceremonies. They were truly elven in spirit, but this ceremony was also wildly different than what contemporary coming of age celebrations had become. This affair harkened back to earlier times, when the young elves of the Second Clan had just arrived from their Journey, celebratory, primal and in love with their new lands. These early ceremonies celebrated the possibility of a peaceful life, of creating families, of pursuing lovers without the fear they might disappear in the darkness of a dangerous wood. They were heady affairs, and this one was no different. It sent a message.

 

A smell of silver blooming flowers scented the outdoor meadow. Simple torchlights lit the perimeter of the meadow. On the low-lying tables, small Fëanorian lamps ensconced ‘in fine chain netting[2], bathed the meadow in an eerie blue light. The breeze swept up the orange and yellow leaves of the great oaks in a circular dance, swirling the leaves up and up into the open air of the meadow. The winds wove in and out of the treetops, creating a strange humming, like the song of starlight heard from afar. The melody of water, churning, tumbling over rocks of a nearby creek, mimicked the deep thread of a great symphony, anchoring the music to the earth. The chatter of birds whistling, announcing their coming slumber, the sounds of bugs chirping, the laughter of the gathered elves, melted into song, evoking a haunting melody. In that moment the Song was manifested in the very world itself, rising, rising towards the skies, reaching the pinnacle of creation, only to scatter as the winds dissipated, the crowd hushed, and the birds bedded down. The crickets’ song remained, the only symphony to accompany Findírë as she crossed the threshold from within the dense evergreen forest into the silvery meadow.[3]

 

Findírë was a vision. She was faerie light captured for a night poured into the likeness of an elf, but then again, there had always been an ethereal quality about Findírë--a feeling that if one looked away for a moment, she would disappear. Findírë wore a simple gown made of the darkest blue silk brocade. Her raven hair was worn loose, as it should be. She wore no circlet. Instead her head was crowned in a plait woven with gold thread, mimicking the manner in which she wore her hair the night she first understood Maitimo was truly hers and she his. The hosts gathered quietly applauded Findírë’s fortitude. The joy on her face was genuine. She was a scion of Kings after all. Seeing her- beautiful, confident, and full of life, truly a woman come of age- the Noldor were filled with pride. Here was one of theirs, a reminder of their resiliency, pride, and arrogance: arrogance to defy the expectations they would wither even when darkness was upon them.

 

Maitimo had not been able to speak a word or approach Findírë before the ceremony. In fact it had been days since Findírë and Maitimo had spoken, been in one another’s company, leaving him in a foul mood. Findírë had been sequestered: the days long ritual of coming of age, a mix of pre and post Journey ritual, was carried out by the women of Findírë’s family. Maitimo sat at the outer edge of the audience. The only appointed seats were reserved for the King and Queen, Anairë’s parents, Nolofinwë and Anairë, and their respective siblings. Findírë’s cousins could go where they wish. Maitimo eagerly anticipated the moment he would see her again, counting himself lucky for he was not able to hide his open desire for Findírë when he first laid eyes upon her. She came into the meadow, escorted by Nolofinwë and Anairë. Findírë was grace embodied. Maitimo was consumed by appetence so great he opted to sit alone, sit with his desire and contemplate his love from afar.

 

While Findírë  was escorted into the glade, the audience murmured their approval, standing, holding their hands out in welcome to Findírë. Maitimo was swept up in the magic of the ceremony, in his adoration of this person that chance brought into being, or was it destiny? Maitimo’s eyes never left Findírë throughout the formal ceremony. He drank in her vision, committing her every step and word to memory. He felt pride and love, yet he also felt anticipation, which he tried to suppress for such anticipation hinted at his desire to whisk her away and live out their love away from the intrigue that descended upon Tirion. Though Maitimo wanted to run off with Findírë like his father and mother had, politics constrained Nelyafinwë. But now she was come of age.

 

Damn it, Maitimo thought to himself, he had enough of waiting. If he did not go to her soon, he would be thought a madman for the curse words that were threatening to spill from his lips. Nolofinwë and Findírë were dancing. Her grandfathers would dance with her next, yet the final dance was reserved to the Noldóran. Maitimo needed to act or he would later repent his inability to throw caution to the wind, if only partially. Yet fortune was not on his side. Coming of age ceremonies were formal occasions, which encouraged young unattached elves to mingle, find first loves amidst the optimism of such events. Maitimo wanted none of it. He saw them coming, now that people were free to move about to find partners for the dancing that would soon commence. A group of maidens approached him, whispering to one another, laughing as they looked in his direction. He recognized the leader of the group immediately. He disliked this one particular elf. The other two he did not know so he had to reserve judgment. He was not a boor most of the time, but tonight he just might be. He stood to greet the approaching group.

 

“Lord Nelyafinwë,” the elf maiden purred, placing a hand on his shoulder. “I was sharing with Mairen and Ferniel that you and I have known each other for a considerable time.”

 

Maitimo bowed in greeting, shaking off Þímiel’s hand from his shoulder. “I guess you could say that four seasons is a long time lady, for that is when you came of age, four seasons ago.”

 

Þímiel laughed, “You remember!”

 

Maitimo reddened, she had tricked him. Of course he remembered when they met and she wanted to make sure he did. Þímiel was the daughter of one his father’s close friends and when she came of age, it was expected that the two would court. Maitimo tried, for his father, and though he found Þímiel’s proud use of her name noble, he found the rest of her lacked the imagination her name promised.

 

Þímiel did not wait to be invited to join Maitimo. She sat on the ground, her friends following suit. Maitimo had no choice, but to sit himself.

 

“Well that is some way to go back,” Þímiel teased Maitimo, resuming their conversation. She gifted him a self-satisfied smile, but Maitimo could sense that Þímiel was interested in more than polite conversation. Indeed, she was not going to waste the precious moments of conversation she had with Maitimo. She cut to the heart of it. “Tell me, how is it that Aman’s most eligible bachelor has not yet wedded?”

 

Maitimo settled himself more comfortably on the ground. His long legs stretched out lazily in front of him. He’d encountered such talk too often. “Pray tell me Þímiel, how _do_ you know I have not yet pledged my love to someone?” he answered, biting his lip, trying to repress a grin.

 

Without hesitation Þímiel countered, “I have heard not a word of you courting anyone. Though do answer this Nelyafinwë, what of these rumors that you prefer the company of men in matters of …” She left the last thought unspoken.

 

Maitimo tossed his head back, laughing sardonically. “You have no manners Þímiel,” Maitimo replied, leaning forward, closer to Þímiel. Strands of loose hair fell forward, annoying Maitimo. He tried to push them back but they got caught up in his circlet. Frustrated, he pulled the circlet off and tossed it on the table.

 

Þímiel and the two other maidens laughed. “Has my question flustered you my lord?

 

Maitimo leaned back, propping himself up on his elbows, observing the three elf maidens, before turning his attention to Þímiel. “The same may be said of you Þímiel if you do not soon begin courting a noble gentleman. You know this city. Tongues wag the longer you are unattached. I am still the proper age for a bachelor, but for you Lady, the time is drawing to a close.” Maitimo was haughty and utterly beguiling. His demeanor was provoking the young women, encouraging them, though his words were tougher. His wicked disposition was certainly well earned.  

 

Þímiel bowed her head, acknowledging Maitimo’s dismissal of her intimation.

 

Maitimo continued, “I would not trust any news you hear of me lady. My business, my heart, is private.”

 

“Nelyafinwë has given his heart?” Mairen interrupted, genuinely shocked. Þímiel pursed her lips, dissatisfied with his answer. Just what was he implying?

 

Maitimo did not answer, wearing a smirk instead. Let them come to their own conclusions, he reasoned.

 

Ferniel, the youngest of the group and certainly the prettiest, Maitimo observed, moved towards Maitimo more curious. “Will you be joining your cousin around the fire after the formal dancing concludes?”

 

“Half cousin,” Maitimo clarified, earning him curious glances from the three maidens. Maitimo paused and turned to watch Findírë.

 

Ferniel cleared her throat, repeating, “Will you be at the fireside dancing?”

 

“I will,” Maitimo answered distractedly. His eyes were fixed on the dancing couple. The well-known melody was drawing to an end. Findírë was graceful and tall. Her form, the sight of her stirred him in ways he did not want moved at the moment. He was becoming increasingly despondent with his and Findírë’s need to keep their love secret and he was becoming irritated with this conversation!

 

Þímiel started making small talk, earning a few grunts here and there in response from Maitimo. While the maidens talked with each other more than him, Maitimo scanned the audience to distract himself. He knew he’d come upon Turko. Maitimo’s searching gaze spotted Turko, though to his surprise, instead of finding Turko watching him and mocking him, Turko was in a similar predicament, surrounded by a group of maidens. Maitimo could not make out Turko’s emotions. Was he enjoying it? Realization dawned on Maitimo- Findírë would soon also be surrounded by suitors! “Politics be damned,” Maitimo murmured to himself, moving to stand.

 

Just then a dancing cluster of delicate lights descended on the grassy meadow. The gathered elves laughed merrily as the fireflies rounded the gathering, weaving in and out of the guests. In that moment, Maitimo stood, smoothed his tunic, a simple grey silk threaded with blue leaves at the hem. His jaw set, he excused himself, and made his way across the field. Gasps of disbelief were head as Maitimo strode across the grassy glade in the direction of Findírë, the dance with her grandfather Cuandur concluding. Yet as Maitimo walked across the glade he also managed to enchant the women and many men with his beauty. His long, undulating red hair was uncharacteristically loose. His strength was palpable, the movement of his form, purposeful across the field, hinting at the strong body beneath.  

 

Findírë watched Maitimo walk towards her, his eyes set upon her possessively, single-mindedly. She was amused. She could not help it, her Maitimo amused her, but she also recognized the Fëanorian temper boiling below the surface. Nolofinwë was not amused, but he did not let on, though Findírë could sense it.

 

“May I have this dance,” Maitimo announced forthrightly, bowing before Findírë, breaking the protocol that reserved this dance to the King.

 

Findírë offered a brief curtsey, a slight bend at the waste, her bosom lowered just enough to allow Maitimo’s eyes to dance along her neckline and make their way up her long neck, to her parted lips. Maitimo was slow and deliberate with his eyes, taking in her beauty as he brought himself erect to stand before Findírë. His vision settled on her lips, supple, inviting, the glint of wetness upon her lips like an enchantment, willing him to claim them. He raised his hand high, his arm stretched out towards her in the manner typical of asking a lady for a dance. To the elves watching, the two were the very image of courtly perfection, graceful and beautiful.

 

Findírë placed her hand in his. A raised eyebrow and a slight impish grin were the only hints at Maitimo’s impure thoughts. A smile bloomed on Findírë’s face, rendering her more beautiful in Maitimo’s eyes, but her eyes betrayed a moment of apprehension. Accepting this dance on her part might betray her longing, reveal to the world how madly in love she was with Prince Nelyafinwë. Maitimo took her hand, giving her a reassuring squeeze, confidently leading her out into the center of the glade to dance. This silver time--Telperion’s night, as it would be recalled Ages later--was reserved for reveling.

 

Many speculated what Fëanáro’s eldest whispered to Nolofinwë’s daughter as he bent over and spoke a few words to their Princess, for that is what she was, their daughter. And Maitimo, he was their son. Both unpledged, virile, young and strong: they reflected the bright future of the Noldor. Many understood this dance as more than breaking a convention. On this eve, the Noldor were offering their daughter in peace and prosperity, a challenge to the intrigue that stirred in Tirion. What better way to acknowledge the Noldor’s long Journey than by having their beloved Nelyafinwë lead his cousin in dance, reminding them of their younger selves? Maitimo and Findírë were a symbol of the beginnings of the Tatyar. Under the light of Telperion mingled with the torchlight, the two striking figures appeared to be figures come alive from the great tapestries depicting Tata and Tatië, the firsts, of Finwë and Miriel, of the dances between lovers that were freely and openly had in the Outer Lands.

 

Findírë was glowing. Her deep blue eyes reflected the incandescent light of the Fëanorian Lamps. The smile and words Findírë shared with Maitimo, unknown to all that watched, made some pause. Findírë was increasingly overcome by her hunger for Maitimo. Deep in her chest she felt desire snake around her insides, squeeze her from the inside out until she would burst, leaving her no choice but to ravage Maitimo in front of the whole of Tirion. Makalaurë, it was his doing! His choice of melody enhanced the sultry mood, the notes danced into the silver night, like an aphrodisiac, a lovers’ brew.

 

The musicians, led by Makalaurë, played an older melody, an ancient song remade to reflect the times they were living. It was an exquisite piece of artistry, Makalaurë’s gift to Findírë. The melody captured the essence of the ceremony, a blend of the old and the new, a weaving together of traditions, of peoples, signaling harmony, balance. This is what the Noldor desired. But the song remade also embraced the dark edges of their histories. The enchanted notes began as a whisper, but soon the melody claimed longing, passion, and those things that made the Noldor pursue love, knowledge, and power with great abandon. It was seductive, the notes crescendoing and descending, like two bodies in the act of love, the beat pulsating, the ethereal notes of the melody mimicking the fingers of a lover slowly tracing the contours of a naked body.

 

The feel of Maitimo’s hand settled on Findírë’s waste, the heat of it burning through her dress were enough to make Findírë swoon. She felt his heartbeat, like the music, fill her. Findírë closed her eyes momentarily, remembering him filling her, making love to Maitimo in her parents’ gardens for the first time. Her lower lip trembled with a shuddered breath trying to keep her longing from erupting. Findírë felt Maitimo’s hands close around her more possessively. Did she dare look up into those eyes? Did she look up and become lost in his tempest? She did. His eyes, like the winter storms over the oceans, grey with a hint of green, watched her, the blacks of his eyes betraying his arousal. A slight flare of Maitimo’s elegant nose, his slightly parted lips swelling with blood that painted him with a subtle blush, the feel of his breath coming heavy though he was trying very hard to regulate his breathing--it was like making love for all to see, though they merely danced.  

 

Finwë leaned over and whispered into Nolofinwë’s ear. Nolofinwë sat up and stared ahead at the lovers with a dispassionate expression. Indis simply put her hand over Anairë’s and squeezed it without taking her eyes off Maitimo and Findírë. Anairë felt her father’s eyes upon her but she dared not turn and look at him. She knew she would find anger and criticism in them. Lalwen and Findis were quietly talking to Nerdanel and Fëanáro, the brother assaulted by softly spoken questions. These were not such formal events that their conversations would be seen as out of sorts, and for that they were lucky.

 

Findírë’s body brushed against his. Maitimo brought her close, but not too close that it would be improper. He felt the curve of her breast move against him, the intoxicating rhythm of the music, allowing the lovers to press their bodies against one another, trace a hand across an arm, as they wove in and out of the courtly dance. Maitimo felt the curve of her waste under his hand that guided her in the elegant steps of elven dance. He could also feel the beginning of her hip, the hip that curved into her rounded buttocks. Maitimo moaned softly, mentally trailing his way to the dark hair between her legs waiting for him to explore the flower hidden away in it, hidden away by the blue silk brocade of her gown. Her hand rested in his, tense with anticipation as the rest of her body.

 

The lovers had to remind themselves the eyes of Tirion were upon them. Inside, their emotions tangled in rapturous lovemaking, but the two were schooled in the fine art of masking emotion, a necessity for a Prince or a Princess that at times needed to keep much from the public eye. But for those that knew them intimately--and those were few and far between--it was plain to see.

 

The melody grew softer. Maitimo reluctantly led Findírë back to where the King sat. The two bowed in front of their grandfather. Finwë placed his hands under their chins, gently urging them to rise. Findírë fell into her grandfather’s arms. Finwë whispered some words to her and kissed the top of her head as his eyes settled upon Maitimo. Maitimo wanted to tear his eyes away from his grandfather, but dared not, knowing such a move would be seen as a sign of disrespect. Finwë’s eyes revealed no emotion, but Maitimo knew his grandfather was disappointed. Finwë released Maitimo from his gaze, indicating with a slight glance that Fëanáro’s eldest move aside.

 

Finwë spoke, asking Findírë to turn and face her people. Indis came forward with a thyrsus, a staff covered in ivy and flowers, crowned with a pinecone, a symbol of strength and fertility: the ancient symbol of femininity of the second clan [5]. Delicately woven in the ivy were golden flowers, symbols of conviction and fertility, emblematic of Indis of the first clan. Finwë announced for all the gathered elves to hear, “The Noldor are blessed until the end of days. We here receive you daughter, named Findírë by your father.” [6]

 

Finwë released Findírë and she walked into the center of the meadow, her staff at her side. In front of her a group of elves appeared. One of the elves announced, “May the names that come to you be as worthy of a valiant daughter, noble and true, and kind in spirit. Findírë you have been called, but now you shall also be known as Cánenis, the name gifted to you by your mother. The blessings of all the clans upon you.”

 

The gathered elves erupted in cheers. It was a good name, a strong name, a name worth wearing into the future that awaited their Princess. Findírë was overwhelmed. The sound of her name awoke something in her, a stirring of an ancient bond, first oaths spoken into darkness. In that moment Findírë heard beyond the veil, beyond time, and for a moment she saw Findekáno standing before such a crowd. The magic of _Halda_ , the wisdom beyond the veil was unleashed! [6]

 

)()()()(

 

After Findírë’s formal introduction to society, she was taken to a nearby grove where she was undressed and submerged in the cold waters of a creek. Findírë gasped for air, the chill of the cool air causing her to shiver. Anairë wrapped Findírë in warmed blanket while her grandmother Nénuiel gently dried her hair. Nénuiel spoke quietly brushing Findírë’s hair. “You love him my dear?”

 

Findírë turned to face her grandmother, whose beauty was legendary. “I do _haruni_. I do…”

 

Nénuiel nodded her head, her fingers quickly and nimbly braiding Findírë’s hair that was like hers- abundant, like the darkest black silk. After completing her task Nénuiel turned her granddaughter towards her. “May your life be blessed.” Nénuiel and Findírë embraced, Findírë wrapped her hand in her grandmother’s long hair, breathing in her familiar scent.

 

“It is time,” Anairë quietly announced, moving towards Findírë who now stood, moved around with nervous impatience. Anairë placed a garland of flowers on her Findírë’s head, “Go now my daughter. Choose your path well.”

 

Findírë held the staff in her hands, examining the vines that wrapped their way around it. The anticipation of what was to happen next was making Findírë fidget. Taking a few deep breathes to compose herself, Findírë took a couple of steps forward before pausing and turning to look at her mother. “Whatever path _ammë_ , I hope you are with me.” Findírë turned and disappeared into the forest path.

 

)()()()(

 

Findírë emerged from the dark shadows of the trees, wearing a simple linen sheath and a garland of golden flowers upon her head, coming to stand near a great roaring fire that had been built in the middle of the glade while she was in the grove. The building of the fire was a celebratory event. Elves filled themselves with food and drink, particularly the strong heady wines of the harvest season, making ready to welcome Findírë into womanhood.  

 

Findírë held up the thyrsus; the gathered crowd chanted words in response that had not been said since their early days in Aman. Someone came up behind Findírë to blindfold her, which earned the cheers of the gathered elves. The excitement, the energy of the feast was palpable. Many would later say they felt truly unburdened by that fire on that silver night. Just beyond Findírë were unmarried elves and behind them stood bonded elves. Children ran through the circle, caught up in the reverie of the festivities. Maitimo was dragged into the circle by Þímiel and her friends following his impromptu dance with Findírë. The gathered elves knew what to expect in this aspect of the coming of age ceremony for the festivities that followed remained similar.

 

The chanting grew louder, the crowd urging Findírë to throw the thyrsus. The circle of elves dancing around her grew rowdier, whooping and whistling, and vying for better position. Þímiel hoped she would catch the thyrsus granting her the right to choose a partner of her liking for many a dance and perhaps a tryst amongst the trees, in celebration of the old ways. The men were growing particularly competitive, and of course, the sons of Fëanáro would not be out done. Maitimo’s eyes narrowed as he came upon both Makalaurë and Turko in the circle. What were they up to? Certainly just egging him on. Maitimo didn’t need much prodding. He was the tallest elf there, probably the strongest one too. While many of the men wanted to catch the thyrsus to have time with Findírë, others wanted the thyrsus to declare themselves to their love.

 

The circle of elves around Findírë danced around her, but she kept her senses focused on Maitimo. She heard him bantering, trading words with his brothers and other elves. The scene grew in intensity. The circle that whirled around Findírë was a frenzy of bodies, but she never lost Maitimo, following the sound of his voice. He too knew she would listen for him so he started singing a silly child’s song that in the context was more colorful than its original intent.

 

“Come and play. Please do stay. Lets have a romp. Do it with much pomp.”

 

Findírë was laughing uncontrollably, her joy full, following Maitimo’s voice singing the silly tune. She could imagine his face, a cheeky grin, his eyes focused on her. She threw the staff high into the air, knowing Maitimo would have the best chance to snatch it at such heights. The crowd erupted in cheers and screams, as bodies lunged towards the thyrsus. Findírë ripped the blindfold off to find Maitimo standing triumphantly with the thyrsus in his hand. The pinecone crown was ripped off, but that too Maitimo held in his other hand. Elves were congratulating him, sharing that no one else but Fëanáro’s eldest could have caught the staff. Maitimo shrugged in that self-assured way of his, his eyes never leaving Findírë.

 

Findírë was about to walk towards Maitimo when an excited elf jumped in front of her grabbing Maitimo’s hand.

 

“I cannot believe you caught that!” Þímiel chattered away excitedly. “You must dance around the fire with me,” Þímiel demanded, pulling and tugging at Maitimo. Maitimo pulled in the opposite direction, his eyes pleading with Findírë.

 

Findírë’s blood began to boil. Who was this maiden and why was she so familiar with Maitimo? Why did Maitimo not just toss her aside, the rapturous mood of the festivities would forgive it. Instead, Maitimo was being too gentle, peeling off the maiden’s fingers that were wrapped around his forearm. Findírë felt something she had not known, not in this way. She was jealous! It was quite apparent that the two had shared some sort of intimacy before. No! She did not want to consider it. The thought of Maitimo with another maiden drove her mad. Findírë was no innocent. She’d stolen kisses here and there but nothing that would drive her to clutch at a man so boldly.

 

Findírë turned around and stormed off, a line of elves trailing her. Maitimo was horrified, recognizing Findírë’s jealousy. “Þímiel!” Maitimo reacted more forcefully, removing her hand. “I will not dance with you.”

 

Þímiel stood back, shocked by Maitimo’s dismissal.

 

Without waiting for Þímiel’s reply, Maitimo rushed off in the direction Findírë headed, leaving a stunned Þímiel.

 

The music was boisterous. The atmosphere merry and mischievous. Elves danced around the fire, some alone, others with partners, spinning and running, their bodies poetic.  Lovers found each other. Others enjoyed the first moments of infatuation. The wine flowed and all was well. All was well except for Maitimo. Maitimo did not find Findírë in the glade as he expected. Maitimo wove through bodies, bodies that bumped into him haphazardly, spilling some of the wine from a bottle he pilfered off a table. “Fuck heads!” Maitimo cursed at the threesome that spilled the precious elixir. Maitimo stopped and scanned the area. No Findírë. He cursed some more under his breath and drank the remainder of the wine in one long gulp. “Findírë!” he howled, but no one could hear him amidst the frenzied revelry, the laughter, the whooping, and the music. More likely, no one paid attention to his yells. In his other hand he clutched the pinecone and staff. He must have looked the fool: foul faced, yelling for his cousin, with the thyrsus in his hand, and an empty bottle in the other.

 

He was about to throw the staff on the ground when he heard the distinct voice of his brother rise up and cut through the melee. It came from behind the tree line. Maitimo followed it, tumbling over a tree root he had not noticed in his haste, dropping the empty bottle. Maitimo fought his way through the drooping branches of a tree, the voice of Makalaurë growing louder and louder. Maitimo stumbled into the clearing. To his surprise he found Findírë. Her head rested on Makalaurë’s shoulder while he strummed his harp and sang, sang of lovers of all things! Maitimo resisted the urge to tackle his brother.

 

Findírë gasped, surprised to see Maitimo break through the tree thicket. That he made his way through that dense copse was remarkable, yet his clothes bore the marks of his struggle. She pointedly ignored him.

 

Makalaurë abruptly ended the song. “Maitimo! I was beginning to think you took up Lady Þímiel’s offer to dance!”

 

Maitimo let out a low growl, his teeth clenched. Pointing at Makalaurë he let loose his anger. “You know better brother. You know better than to tease me. Not now Káno.” Maitimo’s anger surged, his muscles tensing.

 

Makalaurë noticed his brother’s jaw twitching. Maitimo was truly angry and he’d drunk too much of the strong wine. 

 

“Findírë,” Maitimo turned his attention to his cousin. “It is not what you think,” he offered, his voice desperate.

 

Findírë took a deep breath before she looked up at Maitimo. “So your brother has told me, but it makes it sting no less,” her voice broke with emotion.

 

Maitimo made to move towards Findírë, but she shook her head. Maitimo hissed, shifting his weight back into his heels, to keep himself from falling forward.

 

“The thought of you with another,” Findírë reproached Maitimo, “It tears my heart. I know it is not a wrong on your part, but I cannot help how it crushes me.” Findírë roughly wiped away the hot tears that fell, angry with herself for her jealousy. Angry with Maitimo for his life lived before her.

 

“My love,” Maitimo cried out, throwing himself on his knees before her. “Do not…please, do not do this. I cannot. I cannot contain the anger, the hurt your turning away from me provokes. Findírë please!” Maitimo begged placing his head in her lap.

 

Makalaurë made to stand, but not before whispering into Maitimo’s ear. “You will ask my forgiveness soon, but hear me now. Do not show her to fear you. Not in this way.” With that Makalaurë stood, offering Findírë a slight smile. “And now I go find my love.”

 

Findírë watched Makalaurë disappear through a narrow path that came into the clearing. “Maitimo!” Findírë allowed herself to weep, burying her face in Maitimo’s hair, muffling the sound of her sobs. “My heart has so longed for you. I cannot believe one can desire so much. I longed to have you sweep me up in a dance around the fire, but for naught. I realized then that I had failed to consider how I would feel about you having courted other maidens, other elves. I did not consider how I would feel that you have given yourself over to others in body.”

 

“But not in soul,” Maitimo replied, turning his head to face Findírë so that they were nose to nose. “A thousand lashings could not beat out my past, though believe me Lady, if by punishment I can atone for my past, then I will suffer it.”

 

“No Maitimo. You will not suffer a fool, for that is how I behave--as a foolish child. Be patient with me,” Findírë begged.

 

“And with me,” Maitimo repeated, his face reflecting pain and remorse. Maitimo grabbed Findírë around the neck, pulling her into a bruising kiss.

 

“Maitimo,” she whispered as their mouths broke apart. “Maitimo, I need to know you are mine.

 

“Findírë,” Maitimo moaned, “You know this. I am yours in every way. If death come to me I will still be yours.”

 

“Do not say this,” Findírë backed away.

 

“Promise me,” Maitimo whispered hoarsely bringing Findírë back into his body with a move of his arm. “Never leave me _._ Love me through time. Love me through darkness,” the words spilled out of him like a spell. “Love me through all things,” Maitimo implored, his need, his fear, and the realization that they were finally together descending upon him like a tempest.

 

Findírë grabbed Maitimo’s face in her hands pressing her forehead against his, tracing his face with her nose, with her lips. Maitimo threw Findírë back, pressing her into the ground, kneeling over her. His lips blazed a path along her neck as his hands glided along her bare legs, up her torso, along her breasts. Sitting back he took in the sight of Findírë who lay still, still as night, her raven hair blossoming around her on the ground. Her eyes full of desire were the bluest blue, more beautiful than the light caught in the heart of a sapphire.

 

“Findírë…Cánenis,” Maitimo whispered undoing the lacings of his pants. “Cánenis,” he repeated exposing his desire, erect, long, and thick. “Cánenis,” he savored the sound of her name on his tongue, lifting her slight dress to find her nude beneath. “Cánenis,” Maitimo whispered more urgently pulling her towards him, opening her legs, reminding him of the first time he made love to her.  “Cánenis,” he repeated like a prayer call, her name tumbling in raw desire from his lips.

 

The sound of her name echoed like an invocation from Maitimo’s lips, casting a spell upon her, conjuring a wild hunger. Findírë brought up her hips, demanding, anticipating her lover complete her. Maitimo’s long auburn hair tumbled down his back like some wild god descended from the mountains in search of a lady’s virtue. The vision of him astride her rendered the universe hers for a moment. He was Eru’s creation, Eru’s son, like a personal god, her Maitimo.

 

Maitimo thrust inside her, no gentleness to his actions. He was claiming her. Their lovemaking wild, primordial, raw. His arms trembled, not because he was weakened, but because the bones, the sinews, the muscles of his corporeal formed struggled to contain the light, the energy that erupted within him, his body driving, plunging, falling into ecstasy.

 

“All of you,” Findírë demanded, feeling Maitimo draw back, slow down, come into himself again.

 

Maitimo paused, driving Findírë mad with desire, “Wait,” he breathed, words finding their way through the fire that consumed him. “Findírë, Cánenis,” he repeated, searching her eyes with his, looking for recognition in hers.  “I bind myself to thee. Oh Eru hear my plea. Cánenis I offer you my love. Stripped I am before thee, now bind yourself to me.”  His eyes searched her more deeply. He struggled, to be so vulnerable, so exposed, to know that without Findírë he would be lost.

 

Findírë raised her hand to touch his lips. “Nelyafinwë, Maitimo. I bind myself to thee. Eru heard your plea and I offer you my love. I bind myself to thee and take your love for me.”

 

The two whispered in unison, “Eru is our witness.” It was done. There was no going back on this choice. No longer would they be parted.

 

Maitimo began to move inside her, slipping in and out, her body inviting him, soothing him, taking him in deeper and deeper, until he lost himself within her, the veil between them ripped. Maitimo saw his lover with new eyes. The briefest smile gracing Maitimo’s face as he recognized his lover, Findekáno. Time and space contracted. Their bond was unbreakable. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The nicknames I use here for Fëanáro and Nolofinwë were borrowed from lintamande .tumblr. com/ post /67179403783 / house-of-finwes-nicknames [remove spaces]
> 
> [1] As Tolkien inspires my work so does the work of others who play in this universe. This idea of a Finwëion traits, shared by his children and grandchildren is not mine. I take inspiration from Spiced Wine’s lovely and compelling stories, particularly the Magnificat of the Damned Books as well as other writings. Her Finwëions are, well take a read for yourself! Indeed I think her universe in the Dark Prince allowed me to explore more of the tensions, unease I felt with Valinor and trouble not only the Valar but the idea of perfect elves. 
> 
> [2] From Unfinished Tales of Numenor and Middle-earth, “Of Tuor and his coming to Gondolin”
> 
> [3] This chapters been sitting around for a couple of days but I came across this after I wrote this and thought to myself, this is it, this is faerie music!!! Remove the spaces: http: / /earthtouch.tv / blog / article / listen-to-a-choir-of-crickets-slowed-down-to-human-pace / ?category =weird-and-wonderful . There are human voice elements in the track, but it is beautiful nevertheless. 
> 
> Cánenis, Valor woman, derived from Cánë, valor. 
> 
> [5] The thyrsus is a symbol of the Greek/Roman God Dionysus/Bacchus, representing fertility and pleasure, and my favorite-hedonism. 
> 
> [6] Aspects of this passage were taken and changed somewhat from chapter 5 of my story, Not so Valiant, not so Wise, where I describe Findekáno’s coming of age ceremony. 
> 
> haruni-grandmother
> 
> ammë-mother


	5. Intrigue!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I took forever to update. Not that I wasn’t writing. Life, all that is. Well I finally found some moments to get back to this. This is a little AU, well a lot, lol. We have some Valar being good villains, scheming enough for some of the Spanish language soap operas I grew up watching. I hope you all have fun reading this as much as I had writing it. A bit camp at times, but so worth it! In the previous chapter Maitimo and Findírë bind themselves to one another, following her coming of age ceremony. Finwë’s clued in to his grandchildren’s affair, in the midst of what seems to be a growing coup! It’s all cloaks and daggers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd. Apologies for the mistakes I miss.

Finwë had called on his eldest sons and their families to meet at Fëanáro’s house, a strange request, though maybe not so strange since Finwë did not want Findírë and Maitimo to go near the Palace. Finwë paced back and forth in Fëanáro’s sitting room, his hands behind his back. Indis sat quietly, watching her husband, his hair--braided in one long plait--swung like a pendulum with each step he took. That Indis was in Fëanáro’s house was short of a miracle. That Fëanáro paid her no mind was indeed miraculous. Instead Fëanáro sat, saying not a word, his own eyes glancing at Maitimo and Findírë that sat across from him.

 

Maitimo’s eyes trailed his grandfather’s steps back and forth across room, while Findírë held Maitimo’s hand. Maitimo felt a growing darkness in the pit of his stomach, like a light extinguished before its time. In this moment he was thankful he did not have the prescience of his brother or his cousins, who like Finwë, would see things that were yet to be. Maitimo knew this dark thing he felt would be a terrifying vision. Next to him, lending him strength, was his beloved. Findírë was like a cauldron of molten metal, ready to explode, but she held her fire within the confines of her physical body, yet the blue flame of her eyes made plain her mindset. Her own eyes were focused upon her parents who sat next to Indis, though there was no hint of repentance in Findírë’s eyes, she nevertheless subdued her temper in deference to her grandfather. Nolofinwë and Anairë were likewise mute, observing their daughter and nephew and, from time to time, glancing up to watch Finwë pacing.

 

Fëanáro felt Nerdanel’s hands on his back, willing him to calm, soothing his tense muscles with her gentle touch. The air in the sitting room felt stagnant, the weight of a city gathering in that very room. The fire in the hearth, oddly quiet, and whatever warmth it emanated was swallowed by the tension that sat like a ghost in the stately room. Fëanáro pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling a tension headache coming on. Normally he could breath them away, but he could not still his thoughts enough to focus on the remedy. His mind kept racing back to the afternoon following the coming of age ceremony. At least Maitimo had enough foresight to bring Findírë to Fëanáro’s home in the outskirts of Tirion where few elves not loyal to Finwë and Fëanáro would come across the newly bonded couple. What the elder elves feared had come to be. Fëanáro’s eldest son was bound, irrevocably tied in fëa to his half-brother’s eldest. Fëanáro recognized their tempest of an affair, knew it well. It was intimate to Fëanáro, like his and Nerdanel’s, indeed like Nolofinwë’s and Anairë’s, loves that broke with the careful and fragile constraints of Noldorin society.

 

Finwë finally broke the tense silence, letting his gaze settle on his sons. “How long have both of you known of this affair between my grandchildren?”

 

 _Straight to the heart of the matter_ , Fëanáro mused, exchanging looks with Nolofinwë. Gathering his wits, and following family protocol, Fëanáro, as eldest, answered his father: “Not long father, but believe us, we have not taken it likely-”

 

“-And when were you going to tell me?”

 

“Atto,” Nolofinwë interjected, “we felt it best to bring our minds together before going to-”

 

“Stop!” Finwë commanded, not wanting to hear more from his sons. “The times are more dangerous than _any_ of you know. And now this?” Finwë turned to look at Maitimo and Findírë. “This will be as the cleaver that breaks the dam.”

Maitimo and Findírë clung to each other, at once defiant but fearful of the world unleashed before them. Findírë met her grandfather’s eyes, willing him to look at hers. She felt bolstered by an unknown ghost, a presence in the recesses of her mind. Findekáno. Whichever side of the divide, between this world of Findírë and that world of Findekáno, she knew that Noldorin politics would close her world around her. A growing fire within compelled her to consider the world beyond her borders, beyond the Outerlands, a world neither her nor Findekáno yet knew. Destiny be damned, she thought to herself, she was making the world for her own, forging her path. In that moment the chains of destiny were revealed as ideology, chains meant to keep her from imagining her life outside of the walls that threatened to suffocate her.

 

Finwë collapsed into his seat, covering his eyes in exasperation. He recognized Findírë’s spirit, recognized the raw nature of it, reminding Finwë of his younger self, of the time before the Great Journey. Finwë found himself burdened by a crown he had chosen, a people that had chosen him. “My ire is not directed at the two of you, and though I am angry with your parents, I know they believed they acted in the way they though best: to protect their children.” Nolofinwë continued, “I know what a parent is capable of to protect his child. But what I am going to ask of you two,” Finwë spoke to Maitimo and Findírë, his tone gentle, doing little to suppress his sorrow, “what I am going to ask of you two,” he repeated, “is unfair. But I must demand it. In fealty to me, you must do this…”

 

To be apart. To use the old magic to cloak their binding, but for how long and from how many eyes? Though the practice was old the Valar would certainly see through it, but Finwë believed he needed time, for time and the doom it portended was slipping through their hands. But time was not on their side.

 

)()()()(

 

Maitimo ran down the lengths of the streets of Tirion, his long legs covering ground quickly. He focused on the intake and release of his breath. He had to find Fëanáro! He must, oh he must!  Elves moved aside for the elf that many whispered had a crazed look about him. Something was afoot, some murmured, as they made their way back into their homes and shops, a strange sight to see Prince Nelyafinwë run like a madman down the streets.

 

Maitimo cursed his father for wanting to have his house at the edges of Tirion and so he ran, his hair whipping behind him. Gritting his teeth he willed his body to carry him forward at a greater pace. Time was of the essence! What a day to decide to walk to Court, Maitimo berated himself. Atanalacar’s hearings had abruptly ended. Manwë was announcing his verdict. Maitimo had seen Nolofinwë’s face grow dark, but he also saw panic. The entire Court was full of elves shouting, asking, demanding, how it was so. Indeed how was it that a verdict was to be reached when the Council had not been convened? Nolofinwë had sent Maitimo after Fëanáro.

 

“Maitimo, go as quick as you can! Retrieve your father. Let him know that Manwë and his circle are inciting rebellion. Go now!”

 

“Praise Eru!” Maitimo breathed as he crossed the gates into his parents’ property. Maitimo flung the doors open. “Atto!! Fëanáro!! Make haste! Manwë threatens to adjudicate Atanalacar within the hour without the presence of the Council!” The worlds stumbled out, like stones tumbling down a mountain, the beginnings of an avalanche.

 

Fëanáro, who had been carefully designing some device he wished to keep secret, dropped the cup in his hand, the contents spilling on his paper. Fëanáro abruptly pushed back his chair, calling out to his attendant.

 

“Make our horses ready. Maitimo and I must leave at once.”

 

Fëanáro rushed through the home towards his private chambers when Maitimo stopped him. “No swords father. No one is armed.” This scene was all too familiar to Maitimo.

 

“Are you so sure Atanalacar’s men are not armed, Maitimo?” Fëanáro studied his son, who stood defiantly before him.

 

“I am not, but nevertheless, the palace is ours. We know where the ceremonial armory is, do we not?” Maitimo addressed his father, a smile upon his lips.

 

Fëanáro approvingly slapped Maitimo’s shoulder and laughed. “Let them come with their inferior swords crafted by lesser smiths,” Fëanáro scoffed, the thought of such lesser weaponry, an insult to his work.  Fëanáro and Maitimo put on their riding gear the attendant handed to them as they exited the home, the sounds of hooves clamoring in the courtyard announcing the ready of their mounts. “Let them come!” Fëanáro answered, astride his impatient mount, a wild fire in his eyes.

 

Maitimo glanced at his father before he mounted his steed. Who would want to face Fëanáro in his full fury? Certainly not he. Soon the two were away, galloping down the streets of Tirion. Down other streets, came others, on foot or on horse, all to assemble at their King’s Palace. Whispers, then shouts went down the streets, a rebellion was stirring!

 

)()()()()(

 

Findírë paced the length of her room, every day the walls seemed to close in on her, but what plagued her now was different. She was overcome with panic, a deep sense of foreboding that something ill was stirring.  Her mother was not home. She was with her aunts Eärwen and Nerdanel at a Lady’s meeting convened by Lalwen and Findis. Yes Findis! The reminder of this emboldened Findírë. She had never seen her aunt Findis in such a state, but then again it was not every day that a group of Elves and a Vala threatened your father’s crown, assaulted your niece, and attempted to force her into marriage.

 

Findírë had been forbidden to attend, well at least that is how she saw it. Anairë had implored Findírë not to attend for Varda and other Valier would be there to hear the voice of the women, the women of Tirion from the seamstress to the Queen herself, who were unmoved by the scheming politics of a few. If the men could not be trusted to do what was needed then the women would act.

 

Findírë kept repeating Anairë’s words to her in her mind, “If Varda sees you she will know your heart and in that instant Manwë will know and that will be doom.” But a voice deep inside her kept rolling within her, you must go, you must go. You _must_ stand and fight. In that moment Findírë put her fingers in the shape of a scope up to her eye. She peered through and saw Findekáno watching her. He was distant, a lone figure standing on the side of a road, shrouded in mist, but his eyes were cold and blue and they watched her. His figure began to fade but not before she saw him mouth the word, “Go!”

 

Findírë grabbed a cloak and ran down the stairs and out to the courtyard. No time to prepare a horse or she would be stopped. Alcarcalimo, her father’s steward, followed behind but he could not chase after her. Instead he called out to her, “My lady! Where do you leave in such haste?”

 

Findírë paused and turned to look at Alcarcalimo. She did not wish to cause him any worry, but she could not stay back. She had to go. She needed to run! She raised a hand to Alcarcalimo and ran through the gates and beyond where he could no longer trail her with his sight. “My child!” he cried out more desperate, knowing Findírë was running off into an unknown future. He could not follow. Turukáno, Findaráto, Curufinwë and others were in Nolofinwë’s house. But he was not powerless. Alcarcalimo let out a loud whistle, calling for the house messenger.  A young elf appeared. Alcarcalimo took him aside, whispering words only the two could hear. The messenger’s face paled and shook his head in understanding.

 

“Go now,” Alcarcalimo declared, pushing the boy out the gate and on to his missive.

 

)()()()()(

 

Findírë ran through the streets of Tirion to her grandfather’s palace, the King’s palace. Some shopkeepers, so surprised to see Nolofinwë’s eldest running down their street took to the street to call after her, remembering that not much time ago she had fled Tirion in horror. Some tried to stop her, but she would have none of it, insisting she needed to get to the Palace, convincing them she was not running away again. None of these same folks would stop a young Prince who would moments later run down this street in a different direction. For good reason, Findírë wondered if she were Findekáno, who was present in her mind, would they stop her? As a maiden, her every step was observed, measured, and her appointed path laid out, yet she was willing to suffer the consequences to be with Maitimo.

 

There it was, the palace! Findírë slowed to a quick walk. She would attract more attention running into the Palace grounds like a crazed elf. Quickly, she made her way to one of the public assembly spaces, buildings located near, but not connected to the Palace itself. She remembered hearing her mother mention the location of the meeting. She was not sure which building it was in. Surely the sight of crowds of women would tip her off. Then she saw what she was looking for, a group of women spilling out from one of the buildings.

 

She hurried over to the edge of the gathered crowd. Inside she could hear Findis speaking. The women were quiet, listening to her words. Some had sleeping babes cocooned in linen fabrics tied against their bodies, some nursed babes to sleep. Others had small children clinging to their skirts. Findis was laying out what was at stake, the political claims being made. Findírë scanned the crowd. There were no Valier yet present, and who amongst them would attend, Findírë speculated. At least, she hoped she could settle herself amongst the crowds as inconspicuously as possible, but that was proving to be a challenge as the elves near her noticed Findírë and opened a path to her. Findírë wanted to tell them to stop but she understood their obeisance, but did not care for it, not in this moment.

 

Many women raised their voice, speaking what seemed to be the common opinion shared, that there was work to be done, the place women were accorded needed to change, but the threatened coup was not the answer. Fear was reflected in the eyes of many for they knew this group that challenged for power held women in the lowest esteem. And what of the Valar? Where did they stand?

 

Without warning, the sounds of shouts ran through the Palace grounds. “Manwë adjudicates Atanalacar within the hour without the presence of the Council!! Call your brothers, your sons, to the King, to the King!” were some of the shouts heard. A single horn bellowed from the heights of the Mindon. The women in the room grew silent, their eyes wide with fear. Never did they expect the horn to blow. The horn that came with them on the Great Journey, blown to announce danger in the Outerlands now sounded; never had that horn blown in Aman. The women began to stir, Lalwen and Findis made their way through the crowd towards the Palace.

 

A tall, dark-haired elf ran to Lalwen, quickly bowing before her, “My Lady, darkness is descending. Send the women, the children home!” Lalwen dismissed the young elf and turned to face the crowd. “You heard the messenger. I implore those of you with young children, make haste to the safety of your homes and there come together and prepare for whatever awaits us. For those who will stay, follow me,” Lalwen declared. Many women quickly made their way to their homes, while others followed Lalwen. A smaller group stayed behind in the room, including Anairë, Nerdanel, and Eärwen.

 

Findírë was going to disappear with the crowd when Anairë spotted her.

 

“Findírë! What are you doing here?” Anairë ran up to her daughter, taking hold of her hands, knowing Findírë could reveal much being in public . Before Findírë could answer they heard Nerdanel gasp and felt a warm breeze caress their cheeks that left them chilled. Anairë shoved Findírë behind her, turning to greet the new visitor. The gathered women bowed before Varda, but Anairë kept Findírë behind her. Anairë quickly regained her posture, protectively standing before Findírë, but Varda’s eyes bore through her.

 

The Vala sighed and picked her hands up to her ears as if listening to a melody. “I came to hear the women only to find them dispersing. The Horn has blown. Never did I expect to hear it sounded in these blessed lands. Yet I also heard such a wondrous thing- a melody unlike anything I have heard before,” Varda spoke her eyes closed in concentration. “It has haunted me since I began to here its strange tune, a mere whisper.” Varda’s eyes fluttered open, and with one long stride was standing beside Anairë, watching Findírë from the corner of her eye. “This is it!” Varda spoke, her voice like song. “This is the strange melody that has haunted me, and to think it came from an elf.” Varda raised her hand to touch Findírë, but Anairë swatted it away.

 

Varda showed her surprise, her eyes widening momentarily, her attention turning towards Anairë. “I will not harm your child Anairë, daughter of Cuandur and Nénuiel, keepers of the First Laws.”

 

Nerdanel and Eärwen watched the scene unfold, not daring to speak. Nerdanel tried to make herself small, knowing Varda would focus on her if she stirred. Maitimo would soon be condemned regardless, but Varda must not know that Nerdanel believed Maitimo and Findírë’s love had the power to precipitate much change.

 

Findírë stepped from behind her mother in front of Varda. “I am not afraid of what you will find.” Findírë felt her mother grab her hand, squeezing it, but Findírë was not going to stand down. “Your King incites a rebellion. Tell me Star Queen, do you find it wise?”

 

Varda dropped her gaze to her hands, for a moment appearing more elven in body and emotion. “Wisdom, at times, is only understood in retrospect.”

 

Outside the shouts of elves once more disrupted the deliberations within. “Fëanáro and Nelyafinwë have come. Make way, let them get to our King!”  The sounds of many voices outside could be heard cheering as the sounds of hooves on the stone ground danced around impatiently. What was said could not be made out as the shouts of elves hailing their Prince became voluminous.

 

Findírë hastily turned her attention in the direction of the shouts. _Oh Maitimo_ , she thought, _Eru protect him and my father, my grandfather,_ she pleaded going down the list until she concluded, _Eru protect us all_.

 

“Beautiful,” Varda whispered, her shape mingling with the light, her hair floating.

 

“No!” Anairë cried out as Varda revealed her power, taking Findírë into an embrace. Anairë lunged forward to rip her daughter out of Varda’s arms but found herself thwarted by a thought and a word.

 

Varda stood with Findírë in her arms for what seemed like an eternity to Anairë and the other maidens who were in the room watching in horror, for they could see it in Anairë’s eyes--the fear of a mother for her child.

 

“I must know this song,” Varda breathed, her voice materializing, Findírë’s shape no longer a mist lost in the glow of Varda’s essence. Varda re-embodied as she held Findírë who was limp in her arms. Varda lay Findírë on the ground, gathering herself before her, her hands hovering over the elf maiden.

 

“What are you doing?” Anairë shouted, as Varda knelt over Findírë’s prone body, her hand upon her. Anairë tried to pull the Valie away, but how do you grab a being that splits into a thousand beams of light the minute you lay hands on them? The light blinded Anairë, but there Varda remained, kneeling, hovering over her daughter. Anairë took hold of her daughter’s hand. If she could not pull the Vala away she could hold her daughter to her.

 

“She is strong, this young one,” Varda whispered, her voice incandescent. “She would not let me see so I had to compel the matter,” Varda continued, a delicate smile gracing her otherworldly beauty.

 

“What do you need to see?” Anairë demanded, her daughter’s head now resting on her mother’s lap.

 

“I do not understand how this one elf has changed the Song?” Varda whispered.

 

Anairë pleaded, “Leave my daughter be!” Anairë’s words grew quieter, her supplications now sobs.

 

Eärwen and Nerdanel tried to make their way to Anairë and Findírë, but found their legs unable to move, caught in a web-like mist that crept into the room, a net set by Varda.

 

Varda shifted her head slowly from side to side, sifting through time, memory. “This melody. It is different. I do not understand.” Her eyes widened and a fey smiled appeared on her lips. “What do we have here? The lovers…” Varda’s eyes closed, her smile remaining. “Lovers,” she whispered, looking at Findírë.

 

)()()()(

 

Fëanáro and Maitimo rode into the Palace grounds to find a great commotion. Stable hands ran up to Fëanáro and Maitimo. “My lords, the King awaits you!” a tall elf announced, leading them from the courtyard into the Great Hall where the crowds opened a path to the King. The Great Hall in the Palace was abuzz. Voices and shouts echoed within it. The throng of the crowd grew thicker and thicker by the second. The whole of Tirion was descending. Fëanáro and Maitimo took their place next to Finwë. Men and women-though fewer in number- crowded within the hall, the majority of women standing in the margins of the palace, there for what men said was their safety.

 

Fëanáro and Maitimo stood on a dais within the Hall next to Finwë. Nolofinwë, and Arafinwë were present as were others loyal to Finwë. Some family, some not, but all gathered there to demand Manwë stop the Valarin court from rendering a verdict, without the input and presence of the Noldorin Royal Council. A few members of the Council did not stand with the Noldóran. They were sequestered in the Court along with Atanalacar and his other supporters and Manwë, the only Vala present.

 

Finwë calmed his supporters, but his voice could not reach over the voices and shouts that filled the length of the Hall.  “Maitimo, Makalaurë, Laiqualassë,” Finwë called out to his grandsons. “Make haste and calm the crowds.”

 

Laiqualassë, Findis’ eldest son, started to protest but Fëanáro cut him off, “There are enough of us here to hold off an attack if that is what you fear, but look,” Fëanáro commanded as he scanned the crowds, a feral grin spreading across his face as he looked at his sons and nephew. “We do not need to fear _our_ people coming against us. They,” Fëanáro spat out pointing towards the center of the Hall, towards the Court chambers, “must fear us!”

 

Laiqualassë inclined his head, acknowledging his uncle’s words. It was not lost on him that for once he and Fëanáro were interacting without the constant strain that lay between them, a result of his mother’s and Fëanáro’s troubled relationship. The three cousins made their way amongst the crowds, bringing calm, directing their attention to Finwë. “To the King,” they proclaimed, “to the King!” Soon the elves gathered were hushed and turned to face their King.

 

Finwë now spoke, his face not betraying concern, only a confidence that hinted at some thread of the Song that only he heard, that only Finwë could wield. “We ask that Manwë come before us and speak his motives, for we here have ever trusted in our Lords. Come now Manwë, ever a friend and Lord to the Noldor. Come now and give us your reason.” Finwë grew silent after his proclamation, the Great Hall echoing in quietness as if the bodies swarming within it disappeared into a void.

 

Collectively the elves turned to look towards the Court where Manwë was locked behind closed doors. A Vala could certainly materialize where she wishes, but Manwë did not do so. A group of Maiar slowly opened the doors of the Court. Manwë emerged from behind the doors, his crown shining like starlight, though only those that knew the stars well could describe it as such. He towered over the assembled elves as he stood atop the stairs that descended down into the Great Hall. He did not speak, yet a stirring at the other end of the Hall pulled his attention.

 

“And who has authorized the adjudication of this elf without the presence of the Noldorin Royal Council?” Ingwë’s voice boomed as he descended the stairs from Finwë’s royal antechamber to stand next to Finwë. Ingwë continued, the whole of the Royal Hall turned towards him, “You, my Lord Manwë? Say it is not so, but if you say it is so make us not regret our gratitude and service, for ever have we served you.” Ingwë referred both to his relationship with Manwë and the whole of Elvendom in Aman.

 

Manwë shifted his eyes towards Ingwë, his gaze slowly gathering the scene before him. “Does the High King concern himself with the elves of Tirion, from atop his mountain? Is there not a Noldóran?” Manwë smiled at Finwë and Ingwë. His beauty was ruinous.

 

Ingwë climbed down the dais and walked towards Manwë. The elves gathered made a path for him. “I have prayed at your foot and now you belittle me, my title?” Ingwë paused, “I am High King. This _is_ my endeavor, Manwë. You must have fallen from grace to believe it not my place.” Ingwë came to stand at the bottom of the stairs. Though he looked up at Manwë, Ingwë cast an imperious vision, his chin raised, his bright blue eyes locking with the frightfully clear ones of Manwë.

 

Finwë’s voice thundered from where he stood. “I name thy actions folly, Manwë,” Finwë condemned, not speaking to Manwë as a lord. “Folly for what, I ask? I with my two brother-kings came to these lands and led our people, our clans, through darkness and evil. Many were lost, yet it was appointed to me, to _me_ ,” Finwë’s iron voice declared. “I am, as you stated, the Noldóran,” Finwë affirmed, using Manwë’s own naming of him to remind the Vala King of Finwë’s claim to the title.

 

The crowd of elves dared not breath or move. What they were witnessing was momentous though nobody could foretell the ends of it. Hearing their King’s words, the words of the High King, emboldened them, made them stand together. Nolofinwë looked over the crowd. Could the plotters be so few? It seemed so, but only a few were needed if Manwë was involved. Nolofinwë turned to look at his brothers, catching both Arafinwë and Fëanáro’s attention. The brothers nodded to each other, coming to stand closer to one another. Despite the grievances between them, grievances that are all too common amongst families, there was love, a love bound by affection, distrust at times, and sometimes sorrow, but it was theirs, and they were united in it.

 

Maitimo, who had settled himself near a hallway that led to the ceremonial armory, watched, as the others, in awe. History was written of such moments. Ages crashed to an end with such tales. He felt hot, though Maitimo attributed it to the excitement of the moment. Unexpectedly, Maitimo fell back against the wall. His hands trembled, the collar of his tunic felt tight around his neck. He tried to right himself but found he could not. Another wave of fire like a wild tempest washed over him. “Findírë,” he whispered, a scene replaying in his mind as if someone was ripping it from him, watching it, making him relive those moments of passion. Maitimo tried to stand, but he found his legs unwilling to hold him up.

 

Makalaurë spied Maitimo collapsing and was soon at his side. “Maitimo what is it? What ails you?” In his mind Makalaurë thought maybe Manwë had released some sort of disabling thought upon them but as he scanned the crowd none seemed so affected.

 

“Kano,” Maitimo managed to whisper, “Over there,” he motioned with his hand.

 

Makalaurë gently helped his brother stumble towards a more private sitting area. “Maitimo what is it? Your skin, it burns.”

 

Maitimo’s eyes rolled to the back of his head, leaving only the whites visible, collapsing into Makalaurë’s arms. Carefully, Makalaurë carried his brother and laid him on a couch. But how, how could he call Fëanáro, Makalaurë fretted. How could he find someone to help him when feet away the whole of Tirion was waiting to burst into rebellion?

 

“Maitimo, what is it? How can I help?” Makalaurë implored.

 

Maitimo slipped back into himself for a moment, moaning “Findírë...”

 

)()()()(

 

In that same moment Maitimo was unconscious, in Makalaurë’s arms, Findírë swooned, her hands trembling, the memory of her lover in her so vivid. Varda was searching their most intimate memories, ripping them up to the surface, hungry to find the source of the strange melody. Maitimo and Findírë relived the first silver night in which the whole of _ilu_ , the universe, seemed to convene upon her and Maitimo and bless them with the fire of first love.

 

Varda was trapped in the bliss she found in those first moments of lovers’ intimacy, her mind opening, unsettling itself, becoming a part of the Great Song, greedily weaving the Song of Findírë and Maitimo into her voice. The Song told the strange story of Maitimo and Findírë, a melody that seemed to come from afar, yet not discordant. And in that moment Manwë--though his spouse’s mind--saw a scene, a scene of lovers, in the early throws of passion, the first joining of Maitimo and Findírë …

 

 

* * *

 

 

…With great abandon Maitimo swept Findírë up in a furious kiss, the lovers tumbling to the ground of the gardens of Anairë. Maitimo’s visits to Nolofinwë’s home were at times thwarted by Turukáno’s presence, but not this night! Maitimo fumbled around with a blanket he smuggled out to their clandestine meeting to make sure Findírë rested comfortably on it though it did not matter in that moment. The sensation of Maitimo’s weight on top of Findírë provoked her desire; a craving that anticipated their union, like the chapter in a book which preceded the narrative climax. She pressed her body up against him. In that moment Findekáno realized that he was about to experience intimate relations as a woman. What a gift! Findekáno was overwhelmed with the emotions that bubbled to the surface. Findírë felt tears streaming down her face, understanding that her love for Maitimo on this silvery night would change the course of her long life in unimaginable ways.

 

Maitimo broke away from Findírë, catching her face in his hands. “What is it Findírë? My love?” He searched her eyes and did not see fear. He saw love and joy and anticipation. “You sense it too?” Maitimo whispered. Findírë nodded her head, biting her lower lip to hold back her tears.

 

Findírë traced the profile of Maitimo’s face with her hands, her thumb moving over his supple lips. Slowly Maitimo started moving against her, his eyes watching as her breath caught inside her chest. She felt her body arch towards him, yearning to meet his bodily descent. Maitimo dropped his head besides Findírë. She could here his breathing, heavy in her ear, a moan escaping here and there. Their movement became bolder. Findírë gasped, feeling his length, hard, eager and hungry to feel him inside her.

 

Maitimo felt Findírë’s body writhe under him, heard her quietly cry out. He trailed kisses down her throat, pausing to taste and smell her. He made his way to her breasts, kissing the skin of her exposed bosom. His hands quickly found their way to them, cupping them, caressing them under the soft linen fabric of her dress. She was perfect. Findírë was just as bold, moving her hands over his chest, exploring the feel of his muscles. His hands slipped under her dress. She let out a moan as he felt her erect nipples and moved his way to kiss, suckle and tease them with his tongue, nodding her head in encouragement as he slipped her dress off.

 

“Stop,” she breathed suddenly.

 

Maitimo sat up, worry barreling down on him. Had he gone too far? Was it too soon after her attack?

 

“Take off your shirt,” she demanded, “and your boots and trousers.”

 

Maitimo quickly did as was asked removing his shirt, loving the sight of his lover drinking in his form. He was clumsy as he removed his boots and trousers provoking laughter from Findírë. Maitimo blushed at his clumsiness, but he could not help it, he was so overcome with desire. He could not believe what was happening. So this is where it was going to be! Out here under the silvery skies, amidst the flowers and the lights of Tirion shining below like a bed of stars. It could not be more perfect.

 

Maitimo felt Findírë grow cold beneath him. She sat up, wrapping her arms around herself. “I cannot,” Findírë said with finality.

 

“I am sorry,” he offered, moving off of her. “Findírë please forgive me if I moved to quickly.”

 

“No it is not that,” Findírë mumbled, “there are other things that. I just cannot.”

 

“I understand,” Maitimo answered, pulling his hand softly through her hair. “If not tonight then maybe another time?” he asked like an adolescent boy whose desire was stronger than his mind.

 

“Certainly… another time,” Findírë replied, her voice wavering. Findírë placed her head on Maitimo, focusing on the sounds of his heartbeat. What a misfortune, to want something so badly but not be able to have it. Findekáno cursed his womanhood in that moment.

 

“I will wait for you,” Maitimo replied, “as long as you need.”

 

“It is not that Maitimo,” Findírë responded, not wanting Maitimo to think that Atanalacar could wield such power over her. “There is something else … in the way.”

 

“What is in the way?” Maitimo asked, now curious wondering if there was another elf. He was sure there was not, but the doubt crept into his mind.

 

“Certain womanly things,” Findírë answered honestly, wanting to put an end to Maitimo’s guessing game.

 

Maitimo threw his head back laughing. “That is what is stopping you Findírë?” He felt relieved and amused.

 

Findírë was confused. She looked over to Maitimo not finding her predicament amusing.

 

Maitimo leaned closer to Findírë, whispering in her ear, “I understand if you are not comfortable, but I will let you in on a secret,” moving away to watch her reaction.

 

Findírë, now wide-eyed, nodded her head, curious to hear what secret Maitimo possessed.

 

“That stops no one. In fact lovemaking is good for the woman. It eases the cramps associated with the cycle.”

 

Findírë’s mouth fell open. She had not expected this reply. Findekáno stored this knowledge for himself. So the rumors turned out not to be rumors but true! Findekáno had been a fool letting Turko convince him otherwise! Findírë fell back onto the ground laughing at her foolishness, at Findekáno’s innocence.

 

Maitimo moved over her and started kissing her, removing the remainder of her gown. He was not going to be deterred and she was not going to stop him. Findírë lay naked before him. Maitimo gazed at her hungrily as he took in her form, tracing the contours of her body with his hands, his lips, his tongue. She took in his glory, his perfection, kissing him, tasting him, rejoicing in him. Findekáno never knew a woman could feel such pleasure. Maitimo’s fingers caressed her, teased her, explored her womanhood. Women had been a mystery to Findekáno, now they were divine.

 

Maitimo paused as he knelt over Findírë, moving her legs wider apart to make room for him to settle between them.

 

“Oh my,” Findírë blushed as Maitimo stretched her legs apart.

 

“What is it?” he asked, looking up towards Findírë. His hair was clinging to his neck and chest, a few strands tumbling down his face, against his jaw.

 

“You are truly a very large elf,” Findírë teased as she took sight of his broad chest and his large erection.

 

Maitimo smiled, carefully bringing himself over Findírë, his eyes storming with need and desire. Findírë watched him with anticipation, her breathing shallow, waiting for him, to feel him, her Maitimo. Gently, with his hand he guided himself into her, entering her shallowly at first. He too watched her, his lips relaxed, his eyes fixated on her, the dance of her muscles under her skin like a roadmap to her desire. Deliberately and cautiously he moved deeper inside her, listening to her sounds, the feel of her against him. His movements became more purposeful, plunging deeper, quicker, until he was lost in the dance of sex.

 

Findírë moved her hands over his bottom, feeling his muscles contract and release as he entered her. She was not experienced in lovemaking. She did not know what to do with a man, but her eagerness, her desire moved her body, like an ancient memory bound in blood from the beginnings of time when bodies first discovered pleasure. “Maitimo,” Findírë cried out as the friction between the two bodies began to build, a deep warm song rising.

 

He could not answer. His exertion was overwhelming him. “Findírë,” Maitimo finally uttered his voice rising and falling with waves of pleasure.

 

“Maitimo,” she called out more urgently. Something was happening, something beyond the reckoning of their lovemaking. Something beyond them and solely belonging to them.

 

Maitimo pressed his forehead against hers. “Findírë,” he groaned, “I have always loved you,” he declared.

 

“Oh Maitimo, and I you, I you, my love,” Findírë responded, longing overwhelming her.

 

The declarations of love drove the two lovers into furious lovemaking, their bodies in rhythm like a grand orchestra playing a bold allegro. Soon they passed the edge of ecstasy and found themselves falling, collapsing back into themselves, from the heights of desire.. Maitimo’s body overwhelmed hers, his breathing at first broken but slowly returning. Findírë relished his weight, though she shifted under the heaviness of his body. So this is what it was like to have Maitimo, to have him so completely, Findekáno’s voice emerged from the Song that was Findírë and Findekáno. _Almost_ _completely,_ she thought to herself. While they made love, they were not yet bound.

 

For a moment Maitimo smelled leather, muskiness, a distinct maleness that called to mind a person, a feeling, he could not place it. Unexpectedly it occurred to Maitimo that it reminded him of Findírë. Her spirit was more than the shell of her form. She embodied so much beyond what the elves referred to as the male and female. Maitimo considered then that whatever form Findírë came to him in, he would find her, find him, and love him beyond time, beyond the ending of all things. “I love you Findekáno,” Maitimo whispered, “I will always love you.”

 

“And I you,” Findírë replied hearing Maitimo use her other name.

 

“Findírë,” Maitimo whispered, “Findírë”…

 

* * *

 

Varda was more desperate in her search, not understanding how Findírë seemed to shift between manhood and womanhood. Then she came upon Findírë and Maitimo in a clearing in the forests outside of Tirion, during the feasting of Findírë’s coming of age, speaking the binding pledge. She saw the lovers, felt them, became them and from Maitimo’s eyes looked upon Findírë and saw a man.

 

Varda released Findírë into Anairë’s arms, standing abruptly. Slowly the Valie composed herself and remembering the presence of others, turned to look at Nerdanel, offering her a smile that shook Nerdanel to her core. Varda moved her eyes to settle on Anairë, her eyes narrowing as she considered the maiden before her. But Anairë focused her attention fully on her daughter, caressing her, willing the warmth back into her body. Findírë had at first burned, but then her body went cold. Anairë cursed Varda silently for stealing her daughter’s passion. Findírë’s breathing slowed. She slowly began to stir, responding to Anairë’s anxious words.

 

Nerdanel’s eyes reflected terror, terror because what was to come was utterly unknown. Now free from Varda’s net, Nerdanel and Eärwen ran to Anairë and Findírë, understanding what it was Varda had seen, taken from Findírë. The other women gathered also came forward to succor Anairë and Findírë. They kept their eyes lowered, unwilling to look upon Varda who seemed possessed by an unnatural light. The women offered drinks and foods, trying to liven the spirits. Elven women did not posses the magic of Varda, but they possessed a different type of grit.

 

Varda gifted Anairë and Nerdanel another smile, her eyes blinking quickly. “This Song. It is intoxicating, she breathed, but it is forbidden.” The gathered maidens paused their ministrations and looked up at Varda, their eyes reflecting confusion and fear. What was happening? How had the world around them descended into turmoil?

 

“It is not forbidden,” Nerdanel cried out, her voice filling the silent space with energy and fire. Nerdanel rose to face Varda. “Your own Laws do not forbid it!”

 

“It is not forbidden here,” Varda answered sweeping her arms across the room, “but it can quite suddenly become that which is against our Laws.”

 

“Yet that is not how we judge,” a voice from behind Varda startled the group, but Varda remained unmoved. “We judge in this world, not in dreams.” Before Varda stood a tall, non descript elf. The elf’s hair was long and dark, bound in a long plait. The elf wore a simple linen gown, the only indication the elf was a maiden for there was an unfamiliar quality to the elf. But all who saw her knew who she was: Mardëalë, earth spirit, a Haldanur, powerful in the ways of Halda. It was said she was a goddess on the other side, but here she was heretic, an ancient reminder of the old ways.

 

“Mardëalë,” Varda greeted, her voice betraying no emotion. “The songs, the melodies, they are bleeding through, bleeding through worlds. You know we cannot have this. Yet… it is beautiful is it not?” Varda turned her gaze that bore no malice back upon Findírë who was sitting against her mother, her strength returned.

 

Findírë knew what they spoke of, but dared not utter a word, dared not look through to that other place to find Findekáno gazing back at her. She did not want to return. Never. She would loose Maitimo! That is what Varda’s words pronounced, the utter impossibility of Findekáno’s love for Maitimo that lay on the other side of the looking glass.

 

Mardëalë shook her head at Varda. “Queen of the Stars, come down to the earth, feel your bones and feet upon this soil, anchor your thoughts. Do not speak of condemnation from such lofty heights. Speak here,” Mardëalë went over and stood next to Varda placing her hand on the Star Queen’s shoulder.

 

“Here,” Varda replied. “I am here,” Varda spoke her voice filling the edges of itself, mooring itself to her body. Varda turned her attention back to Findírë. “He also knows.”

 

Findírë’s eyes grew with apprehension. She stood with a start, yet she dared not speak, but Anairë did.

 

“Who knows what?” Anairë insisted, but Varda stayed silent.

 

“What have you done?” Nerdanel demanded.

 

“By Eru no!” Findírë cried out. She turned towards Nerdanel and Anairë, mouthing _Maitimo_ and without another word was gone, running towards the palace.

 

)()()()(

 

Maitimo pulled himself off the cushioned bench. His eyes focused on the space around him. He was in the Royal Hall, no longer in his uncle’s gardens, in the clearing of the forest. His strength was returning to him quickly, a panic overtaking him

 

“Makalaurë!” he whispered urgently, “I must find Findírë! I must find her now!” Maitimo had seen their thoughts. Varda searched Findírë and stumbled upon their love, so strong had Varda ripped the memory that the two were caught up in it, paralyzed by it, but in revealing it, Varda had shown it to Manwë, her spouse, her counter, she like one side of a coin and Manwë the other.

 

Unlike Varda, Manwë possessed, as gods are prone to, the best and the worst traits of being. He could be magnanimous, wise and timeless, yet he could also be cruel, capricious and easily provoked. Manwë’s eyes tore through the crowd, settling on Maitimo. He looked upon Fëanáro’s eldest with contempt. He raised a finger and pointed it at Maitimo, turning his gaze towards Finwë, “So you have acted Finwë? Acted against my counsel? Your words were untrue. You dare try fool me?” Manwë’s rage was palpable, a wave of heat rolled through the room and Manwë appeared to be caught in a whip of fire while his finger pointed at Maitimo.

 

“No, my grandfather had nothing to do with this. He did not know!” Maitimo’s voice echoed in the hall, his own fire possessing him.

 

Finwë turned to Nolofinwë in shock. How had Manwë discovered Maitimo and Findírë’s love?

 

Manwë’s gaze turned on Nolofinwë, “So this was your doing Nolofinwë? You thought this wise?”

 

Fëanáro stepped forward. “It was none of our doing Manwë. It was, it is Eru’s will,” Fëanáro replied, his entire being bathed in the light of the Eldar, undimmed in piety.

 

Manwë turned his attention back to Maitimo who was recovered, pushing elves aside, making his way towards Manwë. Like his father, Maitimo’s essence was unleashed: his red hair, a crown of arrogance and pride, the pride of the Noldor. Yet there was more than this, something more powerful. Within him Maitimo carried a love that defied logic, that defied time, a love that burned with the dark matter that created the universe: the very thought of Eru.

 

“No,” Fëanáro whispered, hurriedly descending the stairs towards his son. Fëanáro tried to make his way through the crowd that had their backs to him, pulling and pushing, keeping his eyes on his son. “No,” Fëanáro cried out, his voice lost in the loud tumult, “No, my foolish brave son!”

 

Maitimo strode up to Manwë, not pausing at the bottom of the stairs as Ingwë had done.

 

“Maitimo stop!” Finwë commanded, his voice finding space to echo in the Hall, but Maitimo did not listen. Maitimo stood before Manwë who watched the elf approach with a strange smile on his face.

 

“This is your doing then Nelyafinwë? Did you think that binding with Nolofinwë’s eldest would win you power and favor your grandfather?” Somehow Manwë had seen Maitimo and Findírë’s love differently than Varda, or he had seen it as he was intended to see it.

 

A collective gasp sounded in the great hall. Finwë turned to look at Nolofinwë, fear breaking through for a moment, but Finwë dared use thought speech, gathering his strength to face Manwë once more. _It is true._ _Findírë and Maitimo are bound. It is Eru’s will_. _I will not act against the One._ ”

 

Manwë flinched, the only indication of his reaction to Finwë’s thoughts. Manwë was in a mercurial mood. He was difficult and beyond reasoning when such fey moods came upon him. His eyes bore down on Maitimo, but Fëanáro’s son held his gaze, his hands balled up in fists. Maitimo was ready to fight. Finwë, Fëanáro, Nolofinwë and the whole of that room tried to reach Maitimo but found themselves caught in a net of Manwë’s doing, their voices and arms the only things not ensnared.

 

“It is forbidden,” Manwë finally spoke.

 

“It is not forbidden. Not by the First Laws nor your Laws.” Maitimo countered, holding his ground.

 

“Not so,” Manwë contradicted. “There is something unnatural in the melody of you and Findírë, son of Fëanáro,” Manwë accused.

 

“Then I renounce my title, my claim to the crown so you and those dogs that cling to your robes know I am not interested in power. Ever have I toiled at the service of my grandfather, the _Noldóran,_ in service to _my_ people. Never have I desired to wield power over others. And now you tell me I am unnatural when you dare adjudicate Atanalacar knowing he tried to rape Findírë? I know what you came to do. You came to tell us that Atanalacar will be forgiven if he repudiates his actions and honors Findírë by taking her hand in marriage. I know your crooked mind.”

 

At first there was stunned silence, but then slowly elves started shouting and whistling their disapproval and anger.

 

Manwë smiled, “You think you know much, child.” Manwë paused as he turned his back on the crowd before announcing, “And what would you do if I gave your lover’s hand to Atanalacar as a token of peace, for the future?”

 

“You well know Findírë is my bonded mate. Hear me Manwë, I will kill you!” Maitimo growled. “I will find a way to throw you into the void to sit where you should have cast your brother.”

 

Manwë spun around to unleash his wrath on Maitimo-

 

“Stop this, stop this!” a voice cried out like a whisper amongst the crowds that were rallying behind their young Prince.

 

Findírë made her way across the room, using all her strength to push forward. In darkness and in light she would go to Maitimo, always. Nothing, not darkness or death would stop her.

 

“Stop this madness!” her voice resounded again, and again, until whispers traveled the room that Nolofinwë’s eldest was making her way across the room. How she did this, the gathered elves could not say for she alone was stepping through Manwë’s net.

 

Finally she stood at the bottom of the stairs where Manwë’s net was not laid. Maitimo ran down to her as Findírë made her way up to him. The two lovers embraced, sharing a defiant kiss. Findírë broke away from Maitimo. Turning towards Manwë, she implored, though her voice betrayed her anger, “You will have my life on your hands if you bind me to the man who assaulted me. ”

 

Manwë raised a single eyebrow at Findírë’s declaration. Carefully, he spun his word, lacing them with the will to bring elven minds back into his wicked game, countering, “Though some say you seduced your father’s rival, feigned the attack? How can I trust your thoughts of those events if you have the power to change the Song? And now you are bound to Maitimo?”

 

“They say you are a fickle god. That is charity. You are contemptible god.” Findírë spat back, unwilling to acknowledge Manwë’s provocations.

 

“No child,” Manwë replied. “You do not understand charity. I am offering it to you. To your fathers,” he added glancing at Maitimo.

 

Maitimo repeated, “I renounce my claim to the crown so you may not say that our binding is political act.” With every laden word of charm Manwë uttered, Maitimo fought back with honesty and integrity.

 

“You cannot renounce,” Manwë icily declared. “You cannot renounce a crown you do not have. Only a king can renounce. An heir must only do his _duty.”_

Maitimo turned to look at Findírë, his eyes reflecting the hue of a raging fire. Findírë’s eyes mirrored Maitimo’s fire, sharing his thoughts. _Let us flee and if they cut me down with a sword I will die in your arms. What awaits me is more terrifying than death_. _Manwë will use his power to turn the whole of Tirion against us-_

 

Varda’s voice materialized in the room. “My king, my king,” she soothed, “their song is intoxicating, do not extinguish it. Not yet.”

 

Findírë and Maitimo felt Manwë’s power lull, pull back, enough that those powerful enough to withstand Manwë’s words, use their own Power to push back against the Vala King’s sinister sorcery.

 

Finwë’s voice was heard throughout the hushed hall. “Ingwë, Olwë, and I invoke the Council of Clans. You cannot toss it aside as you did our Noldorin Royal Council. You are bound by Eru’s will on this matter _servant_.” Finwë bowed to no one, only the will of creation. His words conjured power, spoken for his People, to remind them, they too were not powerless.

 

Manwë turned to look at Finwë to say he could not invoke the elder council without Olwë, but there standing at the margins of the Royal Hall unable to move forward was Olwë, his riding gear an indication of his recent arrival, the shape of Ulmo like a shadow behind him. Olwë and Ingwë each added their voices to Finwë’s, invoking the Council of the three Clans, a gift given to the Eldar by the Valar in the early times of bliss, a gift the Valar bound themselves to. It was the will of Eru.

 

“And I add my voice,” another voice echoed through the silent Hall. It was Mardëalë. Many of the elves lowered their heads in her direction as well.

 

“And I add mine, and I mine,” soon the hall was echoing with the voices of women who were slowly making their way amongst the men with Varda’s grace.

 

Manwë spun around and disappeared back into the courtroom the doors slamming behind him, but not before he looked into Varda’s eyes and momentarily looked upon himself through her eyes. What he saw, tales told in the ages since this moment differ, and though no elven historian truly knows what the Vala King saw through Varda’s eyes, Findírë and Maitimo recognized a moment of pain, of sorrow, and though they felt pity for Manwë, their fear also grew by bounds, for both knew that acting from a source of pain is a dangerous, dangerous thing.

 

Now released, the elves made way for the three Kings to reunite, but the crowd was so great that Maitimo and Findírë were lost among it. A woman came up to Maitimo and tied a dark handkerchief around his head. “Go now,” the unknown elf urged. Maitimo and Findírë gave her a nod of thanks and worked their way against the crowd. Finally outside, they ran to the stables. Quickly Maitimo retrieved his horse. The two mounted, Maitimo led the horse away, its hooves echoing in the empty streets of Tirion as they made their way towards the edges of Tirion.

 

Finwë greeted Olwë with a heartfelt hug. “How did you know to come?”

 

“I received the strangest of messages.” Olwë replied, “The Beacons of Calacirya were lit, causing a great commotion as you can imagine. And moments later, Ulmo rose out of the waters bidding me journey. Without my Lord’s help, I would have been delayed,” he answered surveying the tumult in the Great Hall. Turning back to Finwë, clasping the Noldóran’s shoulder with his hand in the greeting way of warriors, Olwë offered, “But I would have come nonetheless.”

 

Ulmo and Varda were disappeared. Most assumed they were speaking with Manwë, though it was only a guess. The minds of the Valar were difficult to know less predict their actions.

 

Anairë spied Findírë and Maitimo from afar but she could not make her way to them. The crowds swept her up towards the Kings. “No!” she cried out, but it was for not. The excitement of the crowds drowned out Anairë’s pleading. Soon she rode the wave of the crowd to Nolofinwë who caught her in his arms. “Aracáno,” she cried, “they are gone. “Maitimo and Findírë have fled!”

 

Nolofinwë soothed Anairë, “We will find them, Aman is not so large.”

 

“They know this. Maitimo will dare the wild lands.” Anairë cried out more despondent. “They will take to the seas!”

 

“Maitimo would not dare endanger Findírë,” Nolofinwë hoped, but deep down he knew that Maitimo had no choice. What awaited them here? As it stood, certain death for that is what Manwë condemned by tying Findírë to Atanalacar against her will. It did not matter that Manwë did not have the will of his subjects. He was a tempest and Findírë and Maitimo dared stand up to him.

 

Nerdanel, for her part, found Fëanáro. Frantically the parents looked for Maitimo but to no avail.

 

“They are gone,” Mardëalë leaned over to whisper to Almáriel, watching Nerdanel and Fëanáro desperately make their way out of the Hall. “Do not worry,” Mardëalë continued, “these gods are imperfect and are frightened, frightened because Maitimo and Findírë’s song is a melody they cannot master.”

 

“We are fallible too,” Almáriel answered, searching for Anairë and Nolofinwë with her eyes through the crowd.

 

“Yet, am I not what is between, what comes next, what does not come?” Mardëalë answered in riddles. “I am not man or woman, yet I am all.” Indeed Mardëalë was a spirit being, those elves born on the other side that embodied more than man and woman, yet Mardëalë was shunned for it; thus Mardëalë took up the demeanor and appearance of a maiden, to keep those more cruel at bay. Where Varda and Manwë were opposites, Mardëalë was infinite. It is why she was divinity on the other side. Some of the Valar did not understand the many shades of being that lay between their own duality. It was not their place to know. In this Eru’s creation birthed its own complexities, new sacred fires kindled that had not been original thought, and yet this too was Eru’s intent: creation manifest.

 

In the Blessed Lands beings like Mardëalë were not born. Mardëalë’s form was seen as imperfect, but life, creation had a way. It snuck itself in through dreams, through wishes, through the magic of Awakening, tearing through the veil in the thin time. Mardëalë spoke to Almáriel, “We must wait till the thinning to call them back. They must flee, find safety and hope that they remain so.” Mardëalë paused, a frown settling on her face. “We must call only one back,” Mardëalë corrected herself. “The other must make his way home.”

 

)()()()(

 

In Fëanáro and Nerdanel’s home, Maitimo and Findírë quickly collected items they needed for the trip to the Bay of Eldamar. They knew that they might have to take a circuitous route to get to the sea; thus their need for a few essential items and the horses. Maitimo turned to look at Findírë with a soft smile. “I am happy you pestered us and your father to teach you the ways of living in the open for otherwise you would not be much use right now.”

 

Findírë smiled. “You should see me with a bow and arrow,” she offered, “I can shoot a coney through a thicket.”

 

Maitimo paused planted a kiss on Findírë’s lips. “That you can!”

 

Mounted on their horses, Maitimo turned to Findírë, and urging his horse forward he spoke, “To the sea!”

 

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I use the convention of night and day to mark the light of Laurelin and Telperion. 
> 
> *This story owes a lot to folks like Spiced Wine who turn the whole of Tolkien’s world on its head as well as Ziggy’s wonderful stories and how Song is developed a central theme, plot device. Mardëalë owes a lot to Spiced Wine’s Dana and to Dawn Felagund’s great fanfic, Reembodied, a great take on the legend of Cuivienyarna. I am sure there are other folks who have inspired my writing, which I am not remembering at the moment


	6. The Hunting Path

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to the memory of those that have passed on. Too many. Too many. And we live on with their memory. We become those adults we watched as children who carried sadness in their hearts, but loved us nonetheless. Breath in, breath out. A constant prayer that ceases when it is our time to travel on.

_Nuruhuinë_ , the time when the veil between those living and those dead thinned was upon them, though the tumult in Tirion had made many forget of the thinning between worlds. But then again, _Nuruhuinë_ was a strange mistress, infamous for causing havoc. Finwë, in part, blamed the thinning time for the rebellion that was stirring at the hands of Manwë and a few Noldor. Indeed, the Valar were not exempt from the strange effects of _Nuruhuinë._ It was a time when the energies of creation, inherent and primordial, ripped the seams of time, for death was, like life, a part of the never-ending cycle of Eä. 

The keepers of the First Laws, the Haldanurs did not forget the power of those things that were beyond even those mighty like the Valar. _Nuruhuinë,_ the time of reunion was also a time to remember what had been left behind. It allowed those that longed for their home across the Seas to walk once more with what was, with those that slumbered in death, keeping a strange peace in Aman. And for these reasons the Haldanur were allowed to keep their tradition from the other side. The Valar were shrewd, if such could be said of the dispassionate view of beings that were not bound by Arda, by mortality, by flesh and bone, and the act of thought.

 

At the Palace, Finwë had restored order, barking out orders. After a time, he was able to call a meeting of his most trusted allies: his family, Ingwë and Olwë, and some of the Haldanur who were present who could speak to the strange ways _Nuruhuinë_ might provoke unexpected occurrences. Everyone was quickly brought up to date with story of Maitimo and Findírë, Atanalcar’s plotting, pieces of a puzzle put together by those who had only observed parts of the complex web.

 

Soon the discussion moved into strategy. “Maitimo and Findírë head to the sea, no doubt,” Fëanáro expressed his worries.

 

“They will be hunted down like animals,” Anairë muttered, her head half in the meeting, half traveling to find the melody that connected her to Findírë.

 

Fëanáro turned to Anairë. “Yes, but they will not be found quickly. Tyelko will make sure of this.”

 

“How so?” Indis chimed in.

 

The animosity that lay between Fëanáro and Indis had been set aside momentarily, but Indis’ question managed to perturb Fëanáro. “Because I know my sons,” Fëanáro answered, an edge to his voice. “They are not here which means they are aiding Maitimo and Findírë. No doubt Makalaurë and Tyelko will ride to divert the hunting parties away from Maitimo and Findírë. We too must do our part to see that they make it safely to the sea--”

 

“--And across it,” Nolofinwë interjected, his voice heavy with sorrow. All understood that in this moment, safety for Maitimo and Findírë meant distance and help from those Valar who were not as invested in Manwë’s intrigue. And that perhaps having them cross the sea, Manwë would turn his attention elsewhere.

 

“Ay, across it,” Fëanáro reluctantly agreed, also unwilling to lose his son.

 

Finwë nodded his head in understanding. “It is for the best,” the Noldóran agreed, “with them gone, Manwë will not have Findírë to toy with.

 

“Ulmo will not interfere,” Olwë assured. “He has no stake in Manwë’s position or ours. Not yet at least,” he added. Ulmo would not provoke the sea, nor would he calm its currents: his only promise was to let the sea be. This was enough for Finwë for he hoped that Maitimo and Findírë might have enough knowledge and help from Olwë’s people that might help them cross the sea safely.

 

Nerdanel raised her eyebrows. Of course the Valar were entirely unknowable, but at least for now, most were uninterested in further provoking the tumult that had been set in motion.

 

)()()()(

 

“Stop!” a shout from behind Maitimo and Findírë called out. Maitimo would have kept going had he not recognized his brother’s voice. Maitimo hastily turned his mount to face his brother. “What is it Tyelko? You know we must depart here!”

 

“I do,” Tyelko answered, “but you will be tracked down quickly. You cannot outrun the pursuit.”

 

Maitimo’s face grew angry. “We have to try!”

 

“You do,” Tyelko affirmed, “but with our help.” Makalaurë came from the stables with two other horses readied for journey. “Now quick,” Tyelko urged, “we must change out your horse Maitimo.” Next, turning his attention to Findírë, Tyelko instructed,  “You must use this saddle.” Tyelko indicated with the nod of his head to the saddle perched on one of the horses Makalaurë brought.

 

“I do not understand?” Maitimo murmured, sliding off his horse, Findírë following suit. Though he did not understand he trusted his brothers.

 

Helping Findírë adjust the heavier saddle on her horse, Tyelko explained, “Makalaurë and I will ride out on a different path. This will help buy you time, but they will know how to track your horse Maitimo. As for Findírë,” Tyelko continued, eyeing Findírë who was wearing his clothes, “the tracks of your horse are too light. Any experienced tracker would quickly know which are the horses you two ride, and our diversion would be for not. This saddle will help weight the tracks of your horse.” While Tyelko shared his plan with his eldest brother and cousin, Makalaurë moved Maitimo and Findírë’s provisions to their new horses. The brothers’ actions reflected the urgency of the situation. Tyelko’s fingers were quickly going over the horses, making sure Findírë’s saddle was appropriately fitted, that the provisions Maitimo packed were sufficient. As he spoke, Tyelko added to Findírë’s provisions. “We need to confuse them a bit more,” Tyelko assured Maitimo and Findírë.

 

Makalaurë removed some of his riding gear, offering it to Maitimo. “I am not sure if this will throw the scent, but these items we have of yours should do some good,” Makalaurë lifted the cover of his saddle bag, exposing the clothes Findírë and Maitimo had quickly changed out of and left behind.

 

Maitimo gathered his brothers to him and hugged them. “You are truly geniuses.”

 

Tyelko pushed Maitimo back. “Make haste, the horses are ready,” Tyelko hesitated. A part of him knew he might be sending them off to never see them again, but if they stayed what awaited them was worse. “Make for the hunting path to Sea. I have sent word through trusted friends to ready a boat. You have allies that will help you cross if need be.” Maitimo made to put a hand on his brother, but Tyelko shrugged it off, continuing with his directions: “You must cross the river at the narrows, and I suggest you swim it with your horses for a time. This will help keep the dogs at bay that surely will be set on our trail.”

 

“Where will you go?” Maitimo asked as the party mounted on their horses.

 

Makalaurë replied as the group readied to leave. “We will head towards Formenos and out towards our hunting grounds near the south sea, opposite where you go.”

 

“Thank you,” Findírë finally spoke, breaking her silence, a silence she had kept, knowing that this was perhaps the last time Maitimo would see his brothers.

 

“Go,” Tyelko’s voice commanded, slapping the rump of Maitimo’s horse. “May Eru protect you,” he whispered as the two horses broke towards a different path. Maitimo and Findírë both turned to look back upon Makalaurë and Tyelko, raising their hands in farewell. Soon the horses were beyond sight.

 

Tyelko felt hot tears slide down his cheeks. He and Makalaurë were riding hard. There was no time to exchange words of concern. He was not ashamed of his tears. The world had turned in an instant. What tomorrow would bring, only Eru knew that story.

 

)()()()(

 

Maitimo and Findírë neared the river narrows. Though the waters were quick here, they knew they could swim with their horses going upstream at an angle to make it to the other side. They had looped many times further down the road, hoping to confuse any trackers. They tried their best to hide the tracks back to the river. Returning to their horses, they wound their way down the steep banks. Inspecting their horses, making sure everything their bags were closed and secure, Maitimo turned to Findírë, before they jumped the few feet into the river’s waters below, “Are you ready?”

 

Findírë’s eyes were fixed on the point they would swim to on the other side of the river. “I am.”

 

Maitimo returned his attention to the river. “I will go first,” he instructed. “I need to make sure it is not too shallow.  I cannot remember how deep it is here,” Maitimo murmured, speaking his thoughts aloud.

 

Findírë nodded her head. “Nor do I,” Findírë agreed.

 

Maitimo jumped in the river, his head going under. He was able to touch the river floor with his feet. Propelling himself to the surface, he popped back up and whistled for his horse to follow. Maitimo’s horse jumped in and soon the two were slowly swimming at an angle to the other side. Findírë followed suit. Unlike Maitimo she jumped with her horse since the depth had been tested. The current picked up speed as they made their way through the narrows, both horse and elf working hard to keep their head above water. As the narrows opened up and the water flow slowed, the group swam towards the banks of the river. On this side they were able to get their feet under them and walk out of the river.

 

There was no time to change out of their wet clothes. They found the hunting path on the other side. It was covered in fallen foliage, which was well enough for it would make them harder to track. They rode silently for a while until they happened upon a strange golden flower on the road.

 

Findírë whispered, “Those are the golden flowers of _Nuruhuinë_. It is strange to find one out here.”

 

“Strange indeed,” Maitimo replied, “or someone has been on this road.” His eyes scanned the length of the road visible.

 

“Judging by the freshness of the flower,” Findírë indicated, “They mustn’t be very far.” Findírë looked at Maitimo, unsure what they should do.

 

“If we are to cross paths with someone I would rather it be someone who bears this flowers for it means they keep _Nuruhuinë_ ,” Maitimo offered, his head turning behind him as the horses trotted past the flower.

 

They went on, but as they continued on the road, more and more flowers appeared. Findírë spoke aloud what Maitimo was thinking, “There are entirely too many flowers strewn about to have been carried by one or two people.”

 

“I agree,” Maitimo whispered, worry beginning to gnaw at him, but his mind was made up. Nothing was going to stop them. His jaw set, Maitimo urged them on even though the hunting path veered sharply so they could not see what lay ahead in the distance. Their keen hearing picked up nothing but the breeze in the trees and the forest creatures going about their business.

 

Rounding the corner, both riders stopped their horses short. The path before them was entirely carpeted with the golden flowers. Findírë was the first to speak. “This is not elf-made,” she observed, nudging her horse onward. Maitimo was going to protest but something about Findírë’s insistence to go forward pulled him too. “I feel the strange magic of _Nuruhuinë_ heavy in the air,” Findírë breathed, her eyes scanning the path.

 

“As do I,” Maitimo spoke softly, his eyes beginning to take on a strange hue like starlight. Their horses walked slowly down the enchanted path, sensing the queer energy about them.

 

“Do you smell that?” Findírë asked, stretching herself to follow the scent that drifted in, its smoky tendrils wrapping the horses’ legs, causing the horses to prance nervously.

 

Maitimo nodded his head. “Yes. That is the smell of the resin burnt during _Nuruhuinë._ ” Maitimo stopped his horse overcome with a sense of dread. “Findírë,” he cried out, “go no further!”

 

Findírë leaned in the direction the path continued, covered in the golden flowers. Turning to look back at Maitimo, she countered, “Maitimo, we must go on.” Findírë’s horse gingerly stepped over the flowers, picking its path so as not to crush the beautiful petals.

 

“Findírë!” Maitimo called out, fear now taking hold. Findírë, he feared, was now heading to a path between worlds, a path ripped open by the thinning of the veil.

 

Findírë stopped, once more turning around on her mount to face Maitimo. ““I’ve been here before,” she mumbled, “it has no end.” The last revelation surprised Findírë. These words were hers yet strange at the same time. She turned to observe Maitimo, who was watching her closely, his eyes betraying his fear. Her words must not have made sense to him. “It is the smoke, the smell of it,” she offered. “It is peeling away the layers and layers of thought and land that separate us from our kin on the other side.” Findírë spoke, words that were not her own. The road seemed to shimmer and straighten out in front of them, the dense trees giving way to open fields.

 

“You mean the dead,” Maitimo answered, his own fear smothered by the pungent smell of the smoke that wrapped itself around them, luring them to continue on the path. Maitimo peered down the road through his fingers shaped like a circle, which he used as a scope trying to locate the ephemeral end of the road. “It seems another road is now before us,” he spoke, the words tumbling out of him. They were not his own, yet they were uttered by him. The thinning time was upon them as he had feared. The power of _Nuruhuinë_ was like an enchantment upon them, compelling them, calling to them. Maitimo too was now caught in its net.

 

Findírë and Maitimo were caught in a type of trance, a dream, where every word and movement they made seemed predestined.

 

“ _Nuruhuinë_ opens more than the doors between the world of the living here and the dead over there,” Findírë whispered, pointing to lands beyond her fingers, across the seas that could be heard in the distance.  She continued, “There are doors of perception, doors that open, allowing the energies, the songs of the two worlds, split by imperfect gods, to mingle. If you listen you can hear the melody.” Findírë slid off her horse, her steps taking her in the direction of the road that earlier materialized before them.

 

“But Arda marred,” Maitimo replied, thinking of the taint and darkness that had fallen upon them, and Manwë’s curse upon them. What about all they had lived together? Was it but a dream, a moment of time that must now reckon for something beyond them? Nothing made sense to Maitimo. His thoughts were clouded.

 

“Arda marred,” Findírë laughed. “Listen and you will hear the Song,” Findírë urged, putting her hand up to her ear. “Do you hear it Maitimo? It is beautiful.” Unlike Maitimo, Findírë seemed to find clarity in the moment.

 

Maitimo too slid off his horse turning his head so his ears could better hear the Song that the winds and birds took up. He felt the enchantment, but it chilled him to his core. The Song he heard was familiar, but the notes contained melodies not of his world.

 

“The Songs are unmarred, complete, and harmonious,” Findírë continued, her eyes reflecting the wonderment in her voice. “It is only when the borders are shut that the melody is marred, only then,” Findírë reminded Maitimo, speaking words that had been shared with her once upon a time. Findírë leaned towards the endless road, listening, the sounds growing, and the music spinning like an enchantment.

 

The melody was like darkness and light, all encompassing and transient, bold and delicate. It was whole and it was the most beautiful thing Maitimo had ever heard. The notes were unknown to him, but so beautiful that they stirred the elvenness of his soul in a way that was primordial, raw, perhaps as it was when the elves first awoke by the waters of Cuiviénen.

 

Findírë closed her eyes, and her breath caught- she understood, indeed remembered the young man she had once been. “I felt riven, split in two, incomplete,” she whispered, eyes peering down the enchanted road. Turning to face Maitimo, Findírë spoke, her words charmed, “But now I know I have always been whole.”

 

The road stretched before them. They had come to it at last, memory beyond time: lives yet to be lived; a stretch of time that hinted at other lives; time that portended the implosion of the world they knew. Findírë walked away from Maitimo.

 

Maitimo stood motionless, not following Findírë, a foreboding sense filled him entirely. His eyes trailed her as she moved away from him. In that moment he wondered where he could safely keep the long stretch of the ages he had not yet lived with Findírë but that somehow haunted him. That life, robbed from him, so much time not yet his, so many dreams that were not yet to be had. They had come to the end of this road. They had come to the end of Findírë and Maitimo. He wished away the clarity he now possessed for it filled him with heartache.

 

Findírë turned to face Maitimo. His red hair was crowned with the strange luminescence of light that they happened upon. Her King! Findírë caught her breath. The figure of Maitimo seemed to bleed into another realm, another time, that was unfolding before her, the enchantment calling her back allayed for a moment. “No!” she cried out, running to Maitimo, wrapping her arms around him, holding him, breathing him in, her Maitimo. Looking up, she reached her hands to trace the familiar path of Maitimo’s face, like she had done time and time again, willing the tips of her fingers to remember.

 

Maitimo caught her hands in his, bringing them to his lips. Kissing Findírë’s hands, Maitimo too desperately sought to store away the memory of Findírë, the sensation of her in his arms. In time, he would follow, even though he might lose his path, Maitimo would always return to her. “I will make my way to you in whatever place I find myself take breath and have thought.” He would face Time and win.

 

Findírë’s eyes were bright. “In whatever place I find myself, I will find you and I will love you.” Findírë raised her chin defiantly. “In the farthest corners of the universe where creation ceases and all is Void, I will kindle my love for you and from nothingness there will always be this: my love for you.”

 

The lovers collapsed into one another to share one final kiss, one final exchange for their very essence was manifested in each other. Time truly was an unknown expanse that folded back into itself and stretched out as long as matter existed. Beyond that essence of life, maybe time ceased, the thought of Eru still: no song, no thought, no creation. Utterly terrifying. But yet the mystery of it all also provenanced hope. Somewhere, out there in Time, they would find each other again. Somewhere, in the currents of matter that shifted and clashed, Time would bring them together again. Of this, both Findírë and Maitimo both certain. It eased their hearts, though the sorrow was still mighty.

 

Findírë tore herself away from Maitimo, sensing that Time was calling her, beckoning her to return to some other place. She knew that she must go. Her hands were beginning to dissipate, her legs weak as strength drained from her, dissolving into matter to follow that other path lay beyond the Veil.

 

“Strange,” Maitimo whispered, “that _Nuruhuinë_ is more than a duality, it is the very place where creation is made manifest and worlds come to be.” Maitimo felt Findírë’s hands slip, indeed disappear from within his grasp. “I will find you in that other place,” Maitimo promised, his own body buzzing beneath the skin that kept it together.

 

Findírë stepped back, away from Maitimo. Her last words to him in that place sealed her fate once more to him: “Nelyafinwë, Maitimo. I bind myself to thee. Eru heard your plea and I offer you my love. I bind myself to thee and take your love for me.”

 

Before Maitimo dissolved into matter, he whispered, repeating his own pledge that he had pronounced on the night of Findírë’s coming of age: ““I bind myself to thee. Oh Eru hear my plea. Cánenis I offer you my love. Stripped I am before thee, now you bind yourself to me.” 

 

And that place they had been, that story of that moment of their lives was no more.

 

)()()()(

 

**In Blackwater Woods**

by Mary Oliver

 

Look, the trees

are turning

their own bodies 

into pillars

 

of light,

are giving off the rich

fragrance of cinnamon

and fulfillment,

 

the long tapers

of cattails

are bursting and floating away over

the blue shoulders

 

of the ponds,

and every pond,

no matter what its

name is, is

 

nameless now.

Every year

everything

I have ever learned

 

in my lifetime

leads back to this: the fires

and the black river of loss

whose other side

 

is salvation,

whose meaning

none of us will ever know.

To live in this world

 

you must be able

to do three things:

to love what is mortal;

to hold it

 

against your bones knowing

your own life depends on it;

and, when the time comes to let it go,

to let it go.


	7. The Road Returns

Chapter 7: The Road Returns

 

“Eru is our witness,” he whispered. But no one repeated the words with him. His voice weak, he repeated, “Eru is my witness,” willing Life to seal forever Findírë’s fate to Maitimo.

 

“He’s awake!’ he heard a voice shout, though sound traveled to him as if through layers of mud. “He’s spoken!” he heard the voice cry out excitedly. He felt a hand on his shoulder. It felt reassuring. Warm. Though he could hardly move, he managed to tilt his head in the direction of the voice. That voice, that was _his_ voice, but where was he now. Something did not feel right, or as it felt before as Findírë.

 

“Findekáno,” he heard _his_ voice gently call out to him. _Why does he call me Findekáno?_

 

“So he has,” Findekáno heard a different voice speak, this one much clearer, piercing through the dense fog that muddied his thoughts. He felt another set of hands on him, beginning to wash his face with a cool, moist cloth. This felt comforting, healing. It was as if he had traveled ages through the expanse of the universe, and now his weary body was being healed with every caress of the cool rag against his skin. He must have been feverish prior to his coming about for his skin now felt cool, but he could feel the sheet that covered him was soaked from his own sweat.  

 

“Findekáno?” the first familiar voice spoke once more. “Can you open your eyes?” There was an eagerness to the question, but also a hesitance that indicated fear.

 

Findekáno? Was that who he was? He? The fog began to lift and the face of Findírë slowly appeared. “Findírë,” he whispered. Where was Findírë? What had his body done with her? Memory rushed back. He so desired to get back to her and that life, even though, her life at the end of the time he had dwelt as Findírë was in danger. Findekáno felt his body tense, tried to raise his head, but instead was received by a wave of pain that nauseated him.

 

The second unknown voice spoke, more urgently “Come here to us young Findekáno. Do not go back”

 

_But I want to go back! I need to go back!_ Findírë shouted from within Findekáno. She cursed the road that led returned her, ripped her from Maitimo.

 

The voice spoke once more, quiet but fevered incantations, words falling and surrounding Findekáno, bringing him back from the precipice. “Do you feel riven, incomplete?” The voice asked, provoking in Findekáno a moment of stillness in the fury of memories and feelings that were battling for primacy within him.

 

The question provoked particular memories from before his time as Findírë. Findekáno remembered punching Atanalcar, running away from Tirion, coming upon the farmhouse, and choosing to go on a strange road. He remembered that he had wished to be another. His wish had been granted, if that could be said of what had happened. He came to be as Findírë.

 

_I am Findekáno_ , he thought, but I am also Findírë. And there had been Maitimo. The thought of Maitimo made him panic. What if he had revealed the feelings he had for Maitimo in that other life? Did he feel that way for Maitimo in this life? His thoughts were beginning to tumble violently in his head. Were his feelings those of Findírë? His thoughts threatened to collapse into fear and pain. But he was called back from the precipice once more.

 

A clear voice spoke through the tumult of emotion Findekáno was undergoing: “My son, do you feel incomplete. Speak, use your voice.”

 

_Do I feel incomplete,_ Findekáno repeated the words, allowing his focus on the question to still his thoughts, his breathing to begin to regularize.

 

“You are here with us now. Safe. Maitimo is safe. Your family is safe. You are safe,” the voice soothed Findekáno.

 

The words were like a salve, a strange, sonorous healing that warmed him, vibrations that reached his core, allowing Findekáno to relax. Focusing on his breath, he allowed himself to fully feel the body he was now in, remember the contours of it.

 

A hand traced his cheek, tucking his hair behind his ear. This offered Findekáno great comfort. Findekáno, now more sure of himself, his identity, and the life he had lived until he found the strange, endless road, answered: “I guess I was never split in two.” Findekáno slowly opened his eyes, covering them with his hand, afraid that the light of this world would be blinding. But he was not blinded. At least not physically, for there, leaning over him, was the most wondrous sight: Maitimo. “How?” Findekáno asked, his eyes opening to Maitimo.

 

“I found you on the side of the road,” Maitimo answered, “on the road to Formenos,” he clarified. “It seems you took ill and fell, receiving a mighty bump to your head.” Maitimo gingerly checked the bump on Findekáno’s head, allowing his hand to linger on Findekáno. “The wound is all closed up and the swelling has resided.”

 

“Oh,” Findekáno groaned, raising his hand to his head, his fingers tangling with Maitimo’s. The shock that ran through Findekáno’s body kindled the throbbing pain in his head.

 

“Here, drink this,” the other person spoke, bringing a draught to his lips. Findekáno recognized the Haldanur from the farmhouse, the person he saw before he crossed over. Findekáno drank greedily, the mere command “drink” conjuring, like Maitimo’s words before him, a thirst so great that in mere seconds Findekáno emptied the large jug. Instantly he felt better, and in a few moments the throbbing of his head subsided.

 

Findekáno clumsily smiled at the Haldanur, “Your beverage is enchanted.”

 

The Haldanur laughed, winking, “It certainly is!”

 

Maitimo was grinning, his eyes full of light. “Cousin! You had us so worried! You lingered in this state for days.”

 

Findekáno frowned. “Days?” But what of his parents?

 

The Haldanur answered Findekáno’s concerns. “Your mother is right outside that door. As soon as I am done here, I will let her know you are with us once more.” The way the Haldanur’s eyes twinkled seemed to Findekáno to hint at the fact she knew much more about Findekáno’s predicament. Before Findekáno could ask the next logical question, the Haldanur continued. “Every time your mother came in here and tried to call you back, your state would worsen. I finally convinced her it was better for her to watch you from afar.”

 

“Call me back?” Findekáno repeated the Haldanur’s words. Why would she use those words? And what of Maitimo? Why was he allowed to stay at his side?

 

Sensing his thoughts, Maitimo replied, “My presence seemed to be the only thing that kept you from death’s door. It was frightening Findekáno.” Maitimo added, his brows furrowing together, reflecting back upon what surely must have been stress-filled time.

 

“Father?” Findekáno inquired knowing that most likely Nolofinwë had to remain in Tirion to try to contain the scandal that most likely resulted from Findekáno’s one-sided fisticuffs with Atanalcar.

 

Maitimo grinned. “Dealing with that scoundrel you rightly knocked to his ass.” Maitimo looked Findekáno over with approval, squeezing Findekáno’s hand.

 

Findekáno managed a small smile. “That was sweet, wasn’t it?” This earned chuckles from the Haldanur and Maitimo. Findekáno turned to the Haldanur, “Forgive me. All this time I have not asked for your name?”

 

“Mardëalë,” the Haldanur replied, a warm smile brightening the Haldanur’s face.

 

“I have heard of you,” recognition giving Findekáno more strength. “Oh,” Findekáno realized, “I failed in my formalities.” Findekáno was not quite sure how to formally address Mardëalë for was more than a lady and more than a lord. Mardëalë was both and more.

 

“Simply, Mardëalë will do for now,” the Haldanur replied.

 

The door into Findekáno’s room swung open. “Findekáno!” Anairë cried out, rushing to her son’s side. “You are well, you are well!”

 

“I am feeling better though I did not know until moments ago that I was unwell,” Findekáno replied, bringing his mothers hand to his lips to kiss it.

 

Anairë looked up at Mardëalë. “I can never repay you for what you have done for my Findekáno.”

 

“I have only guided him Anairë,” Mardëalë answered. “It was Maitimo who was able to find that thread of Findekáno that remained on this side of the divide.”

 

Anairë looked over Findekáno at Maitimo, who was seated on the other side of the bed Findekáno was resting on. “Thank you,” she whispered, reaching over to grab Maitimo’s hand, tears welling up in her eyes.

 

Maitimo was moved by Anairë’s simple gesture. “I, I simply sat with him.”

 

Anairë squeezed Maitimo’s hand. She knew that Maitimo did much more than just sit with Findekáno. She could never repay Maitimo and she knew Maitimo well enough to know that he would never expect anything in return. Perhaps, she thought to herself, there was one thing. “Your friendship with Findekáno will always be something that brings our Houses closer together. I will never be an impediment to it.” Anairë knew more than Findekáno and Maitimo in that moment, had perceived Findekáno through smoke and time, and in dreams seen Findírë--her child--grow in beauty and love.

 

Mardëalë came to stand at the foot of the bed. “You all will be happy to know that Findekáno should be well enough to leave within the next couple of hours getting you home to be with your loved ones for _Nuruhuinë._

“Truly?” Findekáno responded, sitting up in his bed. He felt somewhat weak, but not dizzy, as he initially feared.

 

“Truly,” Mardëalë answered, placing a reassuring hand on Anairë’s shoulder. “Some soup and a bath will help Findekáno regain his strength.”

 

Maitimo stood, pushing his chair back.  “I will bring the soup,” he volunteered.

 

“Strange,” Findekáno spoke, while Anairë helped him stand for the first time in days. “I am hungry but not starved.”

 

Mardëalë looked to the door where Maitimo had gone. “He sustained you, young Findekáno, poured a lot of his own energy into you.”

 

“Oh,” Findekáno replied, looking to the door as Maitimo came back into the room with two soups.

 

Maitimo set them at a small table near the bed. “I will break bread with you for I am starving!” Maitimo offered, sharing that crooked smile that was so characteristic of Fëanáro’s eldest.

 

With some help, Findekáno walked to the table and sat down. Looking at Maitimo who was already spooning the contents of the bowl into his mouth, Findekáno spoke, “Thank you.”

 

Maitimo looked up from his bowl.

 

“Thank you for helping me,” Findekáno offered sincerely, his hand reaching across to take hold of Maitimo’s.

 

Maitimo looked at Findekáno earnestly. “I did what I know you would do for me.”

 

“And I would,” Findekáno responded, glad for his cousin’s comforting presence. Strange, Findekáno thought to himself, he felt a distance from the emotions and desires that welled up in him when he regained consciousness, but his thoughts were interrupted by Maitimo.

 

Maitimo nodded to the bowl in front of Findekáno. “As your caretaker, I command you to eat.”

 

This earned a chuckle from Findekáno. “As you command,” Findekáno answered, dipping his spoon into the hearty soup. It tasted good going down. It warmed his belly. With each bite he felt more strength return to him. Looking up at Mardëalë, Findekáno spoke between mouthfuls, “Your food and drink are magic.”

 

Mardëalë smiled and Anairë responded, “That they are my love. That they are.”

 

After finishing his soup, Findekáno readied himself for his bath. Findekáno did not expect anyone to leave the room for nudity was not something elves found offensive or embarrassing, but nevertheless Maitimo excused himself, giving Findekáno room to be with his mother. Mardëalë was about to take her leave, but Findekáno asked her to stay.

 

Findekáno slid into the hot water. He allowed himself to go under. For a moment, being submerged underwater, it felt he returned to the other life, to Findírë. Perhaps if he stayed underwater for longer he just might see her, be her again, but his need to breathe was greater. Sitting up, Findekáno gasped for air. Anairë leaned forward concerned but she gave Findekáno space to work through what had been unspoken before.

 

Catching his breath, Findekáno looked between Anairë and Mardëalë. They knew. “What am I supposed to do with the memories, with the life I experienced?”

 

“Does it feel close to you?” Mardëalë asked, pulling a seat closer to the tub that was positioned near the hearth.

 

Findekáno leaned back against the towel that was folded at the edge of the tub. “I felt myself on the other side when I was under water, but now it feels like that memory, that life is floating away.” It seemed to be running away from him. Findekáno turned to look at Mardëalë, tears in his eyes, “I do not want to forget.”

 

Mardëalë looked at Anairë’s anxious face and then back at Findekáno. Placing her hand on his forehead, she sighed, taking a moment to gather her thoughts before she spoke. “You might not think my words comforting but in but a few hours you will find peace.”

 

Findekáno’s brows furrowed together in confusion. How could he find peace?

 

Mardëalë continued, “Your memories of your crossing to that other life will be cease to be.  That other life, what you experienced as a maiden, will never have come to be.”

 

Findekáno sat up, his legs straightening out in the tub, causing the water to splash over the side and onto the stone floor beneath. “But how can that be?” Findekáno cried out exasperated, “I have just lived a life! I have my memories as Findírë!” Findekáno spoke her name in that other life for the first time in this life. And to himself he thought, _And I have known a love so great that to lose it would surely be the greatest loss I could ever know!_

 

Mardëalë looked weary. “You asked for something and were given it momentarily, but it was not to be young son of Anairë. You were compelled to come back to this life. That other life, if we can call it that, was like a detour. Time is a strange mistress.”

 

“Do you mean I could have stayed in that life?” Findekáno asked, fleetingly intrigued by the idea he could return to Findírë. Did he lie when he had early said he felt complete?

 

Mardëalë looked to Anairë now, knowing that Findekáno’s mother understood the stakes more clearly than her son. “If you would have chosen to stay, young son, you would have gone to the Halls of Mandos, for that life was but a conjuring of your desires.”

 

“I do not understand,” Findekáno replied looking to his mother for some comfort and understanding.

 

Anairë broke her silence. “Oh my love, the time of _Nuruhuinë_ opens up strange doors into matter and time, but once _Nuruhuinë_ passes those seams close and time is once more woven together, the threads made strong.”

 

“Tell me a memory of that life you lived,” Mardëalë urged.

 

Findekáno opened his mouth to speak, but the memories and images of the life he led in those strange fissures in time were hard to capture in his thoughts. The more he set his mind to it, the more they escaped him.

 

“Tell me,” Mardëalë soothed, “was Maitimo on that other side with you?”

 

Findekáno answered. “Yes.” But he tried to search further into what that meant and encountered fog. “I cannot remember what or how…” Findekáno reached his hands over his head, as if he could rip out those fading memories with his hands. How could it be? Those memories mere moments ago were vivid.

 

Anairë grabbed Findekáno’s hands. “What you experienced was true, it was something, but only momentary and now that you have returned from that strange place, that life, whatever you led there is gone, never to have been.”

 

“I don’t understand,” Findekáno whispered leaning into his mother, his wet hair soaking Anairë’s dress. He knew he should feel immense loss, but it seemed that with every second of time that marched on, even the feelings of that time were dissipating, never to be. And yet he felt a great loss.

 

“Let’s get you home,” Anairë whispered into Findekáno’s ears.

 

Findekáno nodded his head in agreement.

 

)()()()(

 

A carriage waited outside the Haldanur’s home. Findekáno realized that they had only recently arrived for the carriage master was eating and drinking. Maitimo was inspecting the horses, making sure they were ready for the journey back to Tirion. It was not long journey, but the horses had made haste to arrive to the Haldanur’s farm. In a few hours’ time they would return to Tirion.

 

Findekáno took his leave of Mardëalë.

 

“Whenever your heart desires it, whenever your spirit beckons, come see me,” Mardëalë urged. My home will always be open to you.

 

Findekáno inclined his head. “I believe that is a request I will find I fulfill many a time. Until next time Mardëalë. May our next meeting be on happier terms.”

 

“I am sure it will be,” Mardëalë answered, wrapping Findekáno in a warm hug.

 

Anairë waited to say her good byes to Mardëalë once Findekáno was seated inside the carriage with Maitimo. Findekáno gave his mother space to speak with the Haldanur in private for he could see she desired to speak with her.

 

A thought had been bugging Findekáno. He decided now was the best time to ask Maitimo. “Maitimo,” Findekáno spoke, earning his cousin’s attention. “You said you found me on the road to Formenos, yet why did you bring me South to Mardëalë’s?

 

Maitimo scratched his head. “Well, I guess it's the same reason you seemed to walk such an incredible distance.”

 

“I don’t understand,” Findekáno responded.

 

“Do you remember walking out of Tirion?”

 

Findekáno shook his head affirmatively.

 

Maitimo continued, “And yet before you knew it, you were by Mardëalë’s house, which sits some distance from Tirion.”

 

“I do remember that,” Findekáno concurred, “But I don’t quite understand how from one moment to the next the road led me here.”

 

“Indeed, so Mardëalë also recounts, being surprised to see you walking so far south from Tirion. Did you ever ask yourself how you found yourself there so quickly?”

 

“I guess I hadn’t really thought of it,” Findekáno hesitated. Something about the unknown aspects of this stories stirred, it seemed, feelings that were not quite his.

 

“According to Mardëalë, before you were lost, you kept walking South, but I found you north of here, on the road from Formenos,” Maitimo clarified.

 

Findekáno was now more confused. “But how?”

 

“I don’t know,” Maitimo replied, shrugging his shoulders. “When I found you I was so frightened. You looked quite unwell. I intended to ride to Tirion with you, but as I urged my horse on the road took on a strange quality and I found myself in front of Mardëalë’s farm.”

 

“It’s as if _Nuruhuinë_ was folding the pages of map onto itself, closing the distance between places,” Findekáno murmured.

 

“I guess that's why the old ones always say one shouldn’t be out and about during _Nuruhuinë_ ,” Maitimoacknowledged, his voice steady. Looking at Findekáno more intently Maitimo added, “I swear that the road I was on shimmered and shifted and yet somehow I knew, I felt I should go on.”

 

“I do remember feeling the same way,” Findekáno affirmed. “I must have gotten caught up in some strange current of _Nuruhuinë_.”

 

Maitimo agreed. “Finno, your head injury was serious. It was the type of injury one receives from falling a great distance. You couldn’t have just tripped over into that ditch.”

 

“My mother says that we will never know and that to try to know will frustrate us.”

 

Maitimo sat back unconvinced but he too could not break through the strangeness of _Nuruhuinë._ He felt there was more to it, but he could not quite put his finger on it.

 

Findekáno watched Maitimo. “I know what you feel,” Findekáno revealed, “but it will do you, do us, no good to try to capture that ghost. Whatever happened to me, to you, is one of the mysteries of _Nuruhuinë._ Look at it this way,” Findekáno went on, a big smile on his face. “Now we both have quite the tale to tell.”

 

Maitimo chuckled. “Yes _you_ do,” Maitimo countered. “I am sure you will be able to capture many a maiden’s imagination with the telling of your adventure.” Both knew that Findekáno’s memories of what had happened were gone most likely as a result of his head injury, so they convinced themselves. They accepted that answer, for the strange ways of _Nuruhuinë_ were hard to understand.

 

Findekáno laughed, yet he also felt a keen loss. For what he did not know.

 

Anairë climbed into the carriage and found Maitimo and Findekáno laughing. Saying nothing she sat down next to Findekáno. The carriage left the Haldanur’s home taking the road back to Tirion.

 

)()()()(

 

Findekáno looked out the window. Up ahead the gardens of Vana were approaching. A thought came to him. “There is a farm up ahead that I would like to stop at,” Findekáno announced.

 

“Very well,” Anairë replied, “We do have time. Where is this farm?

 

“At the entrance of Vana’s gardens, where the golden flowers of _Nuruhuinë_ are grown,” Findekáno answered, while going through one of the bags he had next to him.

 

“I know the place,” Maitimo joined in the conversation. “Altarion lives there. They are a lovely family.”

 

“Why do you wish to stop there?” Anairë inquired, curious as to why Findekáno wanted to go to the farm. She watched as he dug through his bag, furiously looking for something.

 

“I would simply like to say hello to someone,” Findekáno explained, his attention focused on the object he was searching for.

 

Maitimo leaned over conspiratorially towards Findekáno, “Altarion has many beautiful daughters. I think my cousin intends on seeing one of them.”

 

“That’s not true,” Findekáno retorted, his cheeks flushing as he looked up at Maitimo. Turning his attention back to his sear, Findekáno found what he was looking for. Sitting back, he narrowed his eyes at Maitimo, which simply made Maitimo laugh more and made Findekáno angrier.

 

Anairë shook her head at the antics of her son and nephew, while directing the coachperson to stop at the farm. Within a few minutes, the carriage pulled over at the entrance of the farm. A number of elves were out in the fields trimming away wilted flowers, leaving only the stems of the plant. They paused their work as the carriage pulled into the roadway to their home.

 

One of the men working in the field walked toward the carriage. He paused as Anairë exited. He recognized her immediately. Turning to his family, he whistled, beckoning them over.

 

Findekáno carefully stepped out of the carriage. As soon as he did, he heard a cry from the field and a shout of his name “Findekáno!”

 

Altarion’s face drained of color as his youngest daughter ran towards the carriage, not caring for protocol.

 

Findekáno walked in her direction, with Anairë by his side. He was better but not whole.

 

Lávariel ran up to the group. She was excited to see Findekáno. She had heard he had taken ill, but in her haste to run to him she had not considered how she would greet the others in Findekáno’s company. Lávariel hastily curtsied before Anairë and Maitimo, but Findekáno moved in front of them to greet his friend informally. Anairë and Maitimo stepped back.

 

“I apologize for our impromptu visit,” Findekáno offered shyly.

 

“I am glad to see you” Lávariel replied. “We had heard you were ill. It is good to see you looking well enough.”

 

“I fell, Findekáno added hastily, and my cousin found me, and, and…”

 

“You don’t need to explain anything to me,” Lávariel interrupted. “I am happy to see that you are on the mend.”

 

Lávariel’s father cleared his throat behind them. “Welcome Lady Anairë and Princes Nelyafinwë and Findekáno. What do we owe the pleasure of your visit to?”

 

Anairë inclined her head, “Well met Altarion. My son here said he wished to visit your farm. And now I believe I know why.” She smiled in Lávariel’s direction, causing the young woman to blush.

 

Maitimo stood discreetly to the side, greeting the family as Anairë spoke with Altarion.

 

“I was given this,” Findekáno interjected, awkwardly shoving a small burlap pouch in Lávariel’s hand. “They are seedlings of the Lonesome trees.”

 

“That is a mighty fine gift, my lord,” Altarion responded. “To what do we owe this honor?”

 

“Before my accident, I made a mess of your daughter’s deliveries, running into her on the streets of Tirion.”

 

“Of course, of course,” Altarion spoke, remembering the story Lávariel had shared of her encounter with Findekáno. Before he could ask any other questions, Findekáno continued.

 

“I was brought to Mardëalë’s after I was found and there I reposed until I was better. She gave me these,” Findekáno motioned to the package in Lávariel’s hands, “asking me to pass them along to just the right person. As we neared your farm it dawned on me that your family, Lávariel,” Findekáno smiled in Lávariel’s direction, “were just the right people to give these to.”

 

Findekáno released Lávariel’s hands, realizing he was holding her hands as he spoke.

 

Altarion thanked Findekáno, “This is a mighty gift.” But his features suggested he was not quite sure of Findekáno’s story.

 

Maitimo broke his silence, “ _Nuruhuinë_ is a time where convention seems to be paused. I am only glad that I found my cousin and was able to bring him to Mardëalë’s for healing.”

 

Altarion looked up from the package in his daughter’s hand to Maitimo. “We know Mardëalë and as you know Lord, we are pledged to your grandfather and our King.” Altarion was sharing his allegiances with Maitimo. “Mardëalë has attended my wife in all her deliveries.”

 

“And you are lucky for it,” Anairë added. “My nephew’s words remind me that in this time of _Nuruhuinë_ , we take the oddest things for what they are: the gift of our ancestors on the other side.

 

“Oh indeed my lady,” Altarion replied, fully understanding the magic of the moment. “And thank you my lord,” Altarion added in Findekáno’s direction.

 

“Please, only Findekáno,” Nolofinwë’s youngest urged. Findekáno turned to face Lávariel. “We must be on our way for we do not want to take more of your time.”

 

Before her father could respond, Lávariel replied, “If I may be so bold to say, and I am,” Lávariel paused, laughing, “we cannot second guess the mystery that is _Nuruhuinë._ ”

 

Lávariel’s father audibly sucked in his breath, but Findekáno simply laughed. “Once more your advice to me is one I will take to heart.” Remembering their conversation before his accident, Findekáno sighed. “I believe that your words to me when we first met make much more sense to me now. Thank you for your honesty,” Findekáno offered.

 

“Go on then,” Lávariel spoke, here eyes shining. “I can see you your coachman and the horses are growing impatient. Best be going before the strange paths of _Nuruhuinë_ lead you astray.”

 

Maitimo chuckled. “My lady, you speak the truth.”

 

 “I am looking forward to getting home and sharing in _Nuruhuinë_ with my family,” Findekáno answered, looking to his mother and Maitimo.

 

Altarion placed his arm around Lávariel’s shoulders. Leaning into her father, Lávariel smiled. “May you receive your departed loved ones on this night.”

 

Maitimo offered, bowing his head, “Then we take your leave and wish you well. Praise be to your ancestors that will break bread with you.”

 

“And praise be to yours,” the elves gathered around Anairë, Findekáno and Maitimo responded.

 

The three climbed into the carriage and waved farewell to Altarion and his family. Anairë looked over at Findekáno who watched while the family made their way into their home. “That was a mighty gift you gave them.”

 

Findekáno turned to face Anairë. “I could think of no better people to gift it to. They will know how to grow the trees. And just maybe, those trees can become more abundant so that our time with those that died on the other side is not a thing of happenstance.”

 

Maitimo laughed, his voice bright. “Tis good to know that your accident did not take away your rebelliousness!”

 

Findekáno shared an awkward smile with Maitimo. Findekáno knew that there would be a political price to pay for striking Atanalacar, but he did not regret it. He was ready to face the consequences. And Maitimo was returned. Findekáno could count on him, indeed would look to him in the events that followed.

 

Anairë looked up and saw Tirion glowing. “Time is on our side this evening. We will be in Tirion much sooner than expected.”

 

Maitimo and Findekáno looked up at one another, sharing a conspiratorial glance: roads were not all they seemed to be.

 

The End

 

_“The Road goes ever on and on,_  
Down from the door where it began.  
Now far ahead the Road has gone,  
And I must follow, if I can,  
Pursuing it with eager feet,  
Until it joins some larger way  
Where many paths and errands meet.  
And whither then? I cannot say”

_-Bilbo Baggins, The Lord of the Rings, The Fellowship of the Ring_

 

 

 

 

 

 


	8. Epilogue

Chapter 8: Epilogue

 

 

Turukáno’s and Findaráto’s coming of age ceremony was a delightful event. The bonfire revelry had been successful. Maitimo found himself with the garlands that Finrod had thrown into the mass of bodies. It was like déja vu, he’d lived this moment before.

 

Makalaurë came up to his brother, “Who is to be the special person to be crowned by that garland?”

 

Maitimo looked up from the garland in his hands to his brother. Distraught, he answered, “I do not know!” But he did know. He just did not know how to go about it. And what if, what if he rejected him? No, no, no Maitimo chastised himself, better to spend one night being frivolous than an eternity in regret. So lost in thought was he that he did not notice that Makalaurë had left him to his thoughts, perhaps to look for his own fun.

 

Maitimo looked around the groups of revelers. Findekáno was no where in site. Maitimo tried to keep calm. Findekáno had said to him that he did not wish to partake in the debauchery that could sometimes be the coming of age. He’d hinted to Maitimo that his heart was claimed but that he did not believe his heart’s desire was able to reciprocate his feelings. Maitimo remembered the words Findekáno shared with him. This gave him some solace, but that did little to mollify the anxiety that grew each moment he could not find Findekáno. Eventually he gave up his search for Findekáno. Dejected he sat at the edge of the field, the forest a lonely backdrop to drown his feelings in large quantities of wine. Maitimo was half way through his first bottle of wine when he heard the voice of his brother from within the forest. Sighing Maitimo, picked himself up, making sure that with one hand he held onto the unopened bottle of wine, and with the other took the occasional swig. Too bad for Makalaurë, he thought, Maitimo was about to intrude.

 

Stumbling through the dense thicket in the direction of Makalaurë’s voice aggravated Maitimo, making his mood turn fouler. Breaking through an especially unforgiving thicket, Maitimo tumbled out into a small clearing. He landed with a loud thud on his back.

 

Makalaurë’s song ended abruptly. “Maitimo?” Makalaurë shouted, running over to his brother who was laying prone on his back groaning. “Oh Maitimo, you poor wretch. Look at you.”

 

Maitimo saw Makalaurë’s face hovering above his. A grin spread slowly across his face. “But I did not drop the wine.” Maitimo triumphantly held up the two bottles in front of Makalaurë causing Makalaurë to burst out laughing.

 

Another person burst out laughing as well. Maitimo turned to look, not bothering to collect himself from the ground. “Oh,” Maitimo whispered. It was Findekáno. And he was absolutely beautiful. His hair was loose, a strand here and there falling down the side of his face. How Maitimo desired to run his hands through the silky straight tendril’s of Findekáno’s thick hair. Maitimo let out another groan.

 

Findekáno stood up and walked towards Maitimo. “Oh my dearest Maitimo, look at you,” Findekáno cooed. Maitimo gifted his cousin with that characteristic crooked grin. Findekáno snorted. “Very well,” he answered, crouching next to Maitimo. “Come on, take my hand you big lout,” Findekáno playfully reproached Maitimo.

 

Maitimo’s grin grew wider. Putting his bottles aside, he placed his hand in Findekáno’s, waiting expectantly for Findekáno to help him up.

 

“Some help would be nice,” Findekáno scolded his cousin. Maitimo simply started giggling. “By Eru what has gotten into you,” Findekáno replied, holding back his own laughter.

 

Maitimo’s silly mood was contagious. Makalaurë let out a loud snort. “This is a rare treat!” he exclaimed not offering Findekáno any help even though his cousin was looking his way. “He’s all yours,” Makalaurë shared, his hands up in defeat. “I must go look for love tonight for something about the mood of this silver evening is all about lovers,” Makalaurë concluded, winking at Findekáno.

 

“Be off then,” Findekáno replied, muttering under his breath that Makalaurë was a no good musician. Turning his attention back to Maitimo, Findekáno sighed. “And just what am I supposed to do with you?” Maitimo offered both his hands to Findekáno. Findekáno grabbed them and with one strong pull, brought Maitimo to his feet, but Maitimo was just tipsy enough that the strength with which Findekáno pulled him up caused him to keep going straight into Findekáno’s arms. Findekáno caught Maitimo, but the weight of Maitimo and his own semi-inebriated state caused them to fall back onto the ground. Findekáno landed on his back side, still bearing Maitimo on him. It was Findekáno’s turn to groan.

 

Maitimo rolled off Findekáno. “Are you hurt? I am sorry. I am quite tipsy.”

 

“That you are,” Findekáno chuckled between groans.

 

“I would offer to massage you,” Maitimo spoke aloud before thinking, “but that might be, er, weird?”

 

Findekáno now let out a hearty laugh. Maitimo joined him, the two now sitting next to one another in the small clearing. Findekáno quieted, his merriment giving way to something else. “I am glad you have found me,” he shared sincerely.

 

Maitimo turned to look at Findekáno. “And I am glad I have found you.” Maitimo shifted his weight against a tree behind him. “I know you were not looking forward to this part of the festivities.” Maitimo placed his hand on Findekáno’s leg. “I am sorry that the person you desire does not return your feelings. They are a fool.”

 

Findekáno shifted uncomfortably beneath Maitimo’s hand but did not remove it. Keeping his gaze focused on the small fire that he and Makalaurë had earlier built, Findekáno sighed. “They are not a fool Maitimo. I have simply looked for love where I should not have.”

 

“Nonsense!” Maitimo answered heatedly. “Any person would be lucky to have your heart given to them!”

 

Findekáno sighed, allowing himself to fall onto his back, his arms as a cushion for his head. “There are some things that cannot be, that are forbidden.” Findekáno looked up at Maitimo, before covering his eyes with one of his arms. He could not bear to look upon Maitimo. The charged atmosphere of the night made his heart ache.

 

Maitimo was not sure what type of forbidden desire Findekáno referred to. Surely it was not forbidden in the same way his own desire was for Findekáno. Reaching over and removing Findekáno’s arm, Maitimo spoke. “Trust me Findekáno, I think I can commiserate with you more than you know.”

 

Findekáno groaned, forcing himself to sit up. Leaning into Maitimo, Findekáno added, “Then I am glad to be here with you tonight. We can both be miserable together.” Findekáno’s curiosity was piqued, “But do tell me who in all of Arda would reject you Maitimo? I cannot imagine that.”

 

Maitimo allowed himself to lean into Findekáno. “I desire another man,” Maitimo spoke frankly. He didn’t believe Findekáno would be disgusted. He knew Findekáno’s feelings on the laws surrounding such desires. In fact, Maitimo felt somewhat unburdened now that he had shared his thoughts with Maitimo.

 

“Ah to be that lucky man,” Findekáno answered, the words coming out despite Findekáno not wanting to reveal his feelings to Maitimo. He felt Maitimo freeze next to him. Now he’d done it, Findekáno thought to himself. Hastily, he sat up straight, bringing distance between he and Maitimo.

 

Maitimo stared ahead for a few moments. Without turning to look at Findekáno, he asked, his voice soft, “You believe that Finno?” Maitimo’s words revealed his fear, his uncertainty.

 

“Of course, Maitimo,” Findekáno soothed, believing that Maitimo took his words as simply comfort.

 

Maitimo turned to look at Findekáno. “And what of who you desire? How is it forbidden?” 

 

Findekáno laughed bitterly but said nothing.

 

“Any person who is lucky enough to have your love would be a fool to allow laws or silly morals to stop them from loving you.”

 

“Do you believe that or are you just comforting me?” Findekáno responded, his eyes focusing on Maitimo’s.

 

“I do,” Maitimo whispered, his hand tentatively reaching to touch Findekáno’s cheek.

 

Closing his eyes, Findekáno leaned into Maitimo’s touch. Maitimo was caught by surprise by Findekáno’s show of affection, but he did not retreat his hand. Instead, he allowed himself to touch Findekáno, to feel the way his soft cheeks felt against his warm hand. Findekáno did not move away. Maitimo could not quite believe what he was experiencing. Findekáno was looking back at him, with a fire in his eyes that he recognized as desire. Could it be?

 

Findekáno, lacking Maitimo’s tentativeness, caught Maitimo’s hand and held onto it. With his other hand he reached around placing his hand at the crook of Maitimo’s neck, weaving his fingers into his hair. Maitimo did not pull away. Findekáno recognized the same desire as his own, recognized the passion that swelled within Maitimo as the same, throbbing energy that at times compelled him into intense sorrow. Pulling Maitimo’s forehead to his, Findekáno finally spoke, “Could it be that what we thought forbidden and impossible was unfounded?”  Maitimo nodded his head, unwilling to pull away from Findekáno. Slowly, Findekáno allowed his lips to hover above Maitimo’s.

 

Maitimo was taking in Findekáno’s breath. His scent was intoxicating.

 

“I am going to kiss you,” Findekáno whispered, the last words mouthed over Maitimo’s lips.

 

Maitimo allowed himself to melt into Findekáno. Their kiss was more than he could have dreamed of. He truly could not believe that it was happening! He was kissing Findekáno. This was only supposed to happen in his head, in his fantasies, but the reality of it was far beyond what he had dreamt of.

 

Findekáno’s desire was both hungry and cautious. He had waited long enough to find his love. And here he was. Again. It was as if he was reliving this moment in another life he had lived. Findekáno moaned softly into the kiss.

 

Theirs was a gentle kiss, searching, loving, tentative. Too much time had stood between them and now they found themselves respecting the intimacy of the moment, allowing the sadness that had claimed their hearts to purge itself. With their hands they searched one another, hesitant, and gentle, like their kiss. Through touch, through kiss, they spoke a language that translates more deeply, more sensuously, the matter of desire.

 

Maitimo was the first to break away from the kiss. Findekáno growled with disapproval. “Findekáno,” Maitimo spoke quietly, his hand tracing Findekáno’s face, “I need you to know that what I feel for you is more than simple desire--”

 

“I have loved you since before time,” Findekáno interrupted, his words urgent. Findekáno was rougher with Maitimo, pulling him into a more desperate kiss before breaking away. “And now I know you love me.”

 

“I do,” Maitimo breathed, between kisses. “I do.” Pushing Findekáno to the ground, Maitimo hovered over him, whispering, “It seems that I have loved you through time and that I will love you through darkness,” the words spilled out of Maitimo like a spell. “I will love you through all things,” Maitimo spoke, words that seemed familiar, words that he had shared with Findekáno in another life.

 

Findekáno nipped hungrily at Maitimo’s neck, undoing the laces of Maitimo’s trousers. Maitimo shuddered, clumsily pulling at Findekáno’s clothes. “You are such a male,” Maitimo teased Findekáno’s unwillingness to reply to his declarations. Findekáno for his part, grabbed Maitimo and flipped him around so Maitimo was now beneath him.

 

Straddling him, Findekáno leaned over to whisper in his ear, preparing him with his fingers, “Let me show you how much I love you, let me show you…” Findekáno began to move inside him, slipping in and out. “I love you,” Findekáno whispered, “My heart has so longed for you,” his voice trailed off, losing its battle to the frenzy of love-making. Maitimo’s body invited him in, soothing him, taking him in deeper and deeper, until Findekáno lost himself within Maitimo, the veil between them ripped.

 

Maitimo saw his lover with new eyes. The briefest smile gracing Maitimo’s face as he recognized his lover, Findírë from another time. Time and space contracted. Their bond was unbreakable.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I cannot believe it is done! I wish I could have kept up with this story in a more timely manner. Alas, it is done!


End file.
